Or Sleep with the Fishes
by ListerOfTardis
Summary: After centuries of poor treatment of Smee, Killian is determined to make amends. But the process is more difficult and painful than he originally expects. Takes place after Season 6, with plenty of flashbacks to pre-Curse Hook and crew.
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** A few warnings: I am very much a Killian whumper. And frequently, the only way I can make myself write a scene is to add whump. Or painful medical treatment. Just so you know. Also, I like the headcanon of Hook as Pan's (unwilling) sex slave. There won't be anything explicit, but plenty of references and some of the emotional effects. "M" rating is for violence, language, and implied sexual activity.

Flashbacks will have a location and approximate timeline; current events won't. Hopefully you'll be able to follow okay.

Story title comes from the "Pirate March" song from 2014's _Peter Pan Live:_ "You'll do as he wishes or sleep with the fishes, the terrible Captain Hook!" Chapter titles will be song lyrics or quotes from different versions of the Peter Pan musicals, the film _Hook_ , or occasionally OUAT.

 ** _Chapter 1: A Glimmer of a Plan_**

"Next round of drinks, on me!"

The men gathered around the table cheered. Smee grinned, feeling like a part of the group for once. Until his feet got tangled and he inevitably tripped forward, flinging the drink-laden tray as he went down.

The participants in Killian's bachelor party all leapt to their feet as they were splattered with alcohol; all except Killian himself, who was drenched in it. He simply sighed.

"I see _you_ haven't changed much."

Smee scrambled to his feet, turning all shades of red and stammering,

"I'm sorry, Captain! Oh, wow, you're… soaked. Oh, I'm so embarrassed. Here, let me help…"

Smee fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket and stepped forward to dab frantically at Killian's wet clothing.

"I'll go find some paper towels," offered Walter.

"And I'll get the drinks," added Leroy.

"Mister Smee. While I appreciate the effort… perhaps you would be so kind as to remove your boot from atop my toes?" Killian requested acerbically. Smee looked down, at first not registering his meaning.

"So sorry Captain!"

Killian waited with strained patience. "No harm done."

Smee hopped backward, stammering apologies… immediately into the path of a heavily-laden busboy. There was another crash as dirty dishes went flying. Killian ducked this time, but wasn't fast enough to avoid a tumbling steak knife. The tip glanced off his jawline, leaving a small gouge in its wake.

"Bloody hell, mate, you are determined to be the death of me this evening!" Killian exclaimed as the ruckus subsided. He pressed his palm against the cut and scowled at Smee. "Remind me again why I kept you around all these years?"

"Comic relief, sir?" Smee tried with a weak smile.

"It's my understanding, for that to be true, that one must actually be _amusing_."

Smee's face fell.

"Is everyone all right? Hook?" David broke in.

"I'll live. No thanks to this oaf."

"Please, let me help, sir," Smee practically begged. "I swear, none of this was intentional, and I don't _think_ I'm jinxed…"

He moved forward with the intention of assisting his captain. But his foot lost traction with all of the alcohol, grease, and broken dishes on the floor. He did a very impressive stationary sprint, arms windmilling, before ending in a faceplant in Killian's lap.

The pirate stifled another curse before shoving Smee roughly off of him.

"Eager to have my hook in you, Smee?"

Smee shook his head miserably.

"Then perhaps you should sit this one out."

"Th… that's probably a good idea, sir."

Smee carefully picked his way past the mess, then he stopped and turned. Head hanging, he mumbled,

"Sorry for ruining your fun."

When Smee had exited the Rabbit Hole, David got up and retrieved the first aid kit, courtesy of the busboy. He skirted the attempts to begin cleaning up, stepping gingerly to Killian's side. "Mind if I take a look?"

Killian tilted his head to give David better access to the still-oozing slash on his jaw. "Well, at least we smell the part, eh mate?"

David ripped open some Neosporin and dabbed it carefully onto the wound. "Poor Smee. Has he always been that clumsy?"

"Aye. But it does tend to get worse when he's in the spotlight." Killian gazed at the door, sighing as David used Steri-strips to pull the edges of the cut together.

"Must be rough."

"Look, mate; if you're trying to make me feel bad, it's a wasted exercise. I can do that well enough on my own."

"Oh, no; that's not it at all!" David patted Killian's shoulder as he straightened up. "This is your night- you're supposed to be having fun. Come on. Let's find a clean table and have another drink."

As drinks were consumed and fun was had by all, the incident with Smee was largely forgotten.

But not by Killian.

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The hull of the Jolly Roger cut effortlessly through the open sea. The sun shone. Sea birds quarreled as they watched for any sign of fish in the ship's wake. All in all, a perfect day at sea.

But Killian was angry.

He couldn't remember _why_ he was angry. He just knew he was furious.

He needed an outlet. And soon, the perfect scapegoat presented himself: Mister Smee, babbling away as he always did. Bloody oaf.

In no time at all, Smee was tied to the mast, shirtless, wailing even before the first crack of the whip. Killian shed his flamboyant...red?... overcoat for better range of motion, the feather on his wide-brimmed hat casting a wispy shadow on the deck.

In her leather Pirate Queen dress, Emma watched the first lashes fall. The men, well-trained to keep their distance from her, laughed and jeered from the other end of the deck. "It's always so much more satisfying when he hasn't done anything wrong, isn't it, Captain?"

"Aye," came his gruff reply, accompanied by a puff of exertion. His curled mustache tickled his cheeks. And he lay all of his aggression and rage into his task.

Smee's screams faded, inexplicably becoming the ticking of a thousand clocks. Hook shrugged into his coat, his long ringlets cascading down his shoulders. Their surroundings were vaguely familiar, but he couldn't _quite_ place it.

Smee held the lash now, still shirtless, still bleeding. Hook watched calmly as his first mate began to systematically demolish each clock on the wall, using the butt of the whip's handle. Blood dripped from the tip of each cord, splattering the floorboards. With every blow, Smee released a cry of anger, frustration, and pain. Broken glass and clock parts littered the shop. Hook tilted his head in contemplation. Why was Smee so outraged? And was this bizarre form of therapy helping?

Emma woke Killian with a gentle kiss; one which he happily returned before he even knew what reality was. Killian opened his eyes to behold his lovely new bride, wrapped in their bedsheet and not much else. His brief disorientation must have been apparent, for when they paused for breath, Emma teased,

"What? Did I interrupt something?"

"Nothing, love. Too many movie nights with Henry is all."

She claimed his lips again. And his last lucid thought before giving himself entirely to her was that he knew what he had to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Chapter 2: Captain of Villainy_**

"I need to go into work for a few hours," Emma sighed. "Sorry."

It was highly unusual for her to give up her Saturday afternoon now that things had settled down and they had enough deputies to cover the weekend. Killian cocked his head questioningly.

"Aye? Is anything amiss?"

"No; just some reports that I realized need to be done before Monday."

"Ah. Well perhaps I can be of some assistance," he offered, honestly hoping she'd accept. Because if she didn't…

"No, I don't want to take up your day off. Besides, it's really more of a one-person job." She leaned in for a quick kiss. "I appreciate the offer, though."

"Of course, love."

"Sorry to flake on our time off together."

"No need to apologize. If you're certain I'm of no use to you, I'll endeavor to keep myself entertained."

Wrapping her arms around his waist, she gazed up into his eyes. "Oh yeah? What do married pirate captains do for entertainment?"

His lips formed a rakish smile before pressing gently against hers. "Tend to his ship, of course. It's been far too long."

She smirked. "Three days is 'too long'?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, darling."

Their kiss was longer this time, and more difficult to pull away from. But Emma finally took a step back, knowing that if she wanted to get _any_ work done that afternoon, she had to leave before he could tempt her to stay.

"I wish I could come with you," she told him regretfully. "Do you think you'll take her out? If Henry weren't hanging out with Violet, I'm sure he'd like to help you. Actually, maybe you could talk them both into a little sailing trip."

He rubbed at his scalp self-consciously. "I was... considering inviting Smee."

"Really?"

"Is that so surprising?"

"Well… you just haven't spent much time with him lately, is all."

"Aye. And it's high time we rectify the situation." Killian dropped his gaze momentarily before continuing. "He was the closest thing I had to a friend for many years. I feel I ought to acknowledge that."

The look Emma gave him was part pride, part sympathy, and all devotion. "That sounds like a great way to spend the afternoon. Have fun, okay?"

He flashed a smile that hid trepidation. "Thank you, love. I'd wish the same for you, but I know all too well your contentious relationship with paperwork."

At his wink, Emma sighed a resigned groan. "What gave it away?"

Killian walked her to the entryway. She dug her keys from a drawer, saying,

"I have my phone with me. I know you don't get service out on the water, but let me know when you're nearing land again. I'll grab some dinner on my way home."

"Thank you. Although, don't feel obliged to wait on me. I don't intend to dawdle too long, but Smee does like to prattle on a bit."

Emma chuckled. "Okay. See you later."

"I love you, Swan."

She hesitated fractionally. Was there something the tiniest bit… anxious in his tone? She studied his face as he gave her a warm smile. Finally, she broke out into a grin of her own.

"I love you too, Killian."

Killian's expression quickly became a grimace at the closed door. His resolve hadn't changed; he was still convinced of the course of action he must take. But that didn't mean he looked forward to it. And when he'd woken that morning, he hadn't expected to have to go through with it that day. Still, the opportunity had presented itself; best to get it over with. He scowled and squared his shoulders.

Yet he couldn't quiet the small part of him that hoped Smee was unavailable.

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 _~Neverland: Day 1~_

"Captain on deck!"

Killian climbed aboard the Jolly Roger, outwardly brooding but raging internally. Agony from his wrist lanced all the way up to his shoulder with each step he took. Barely registering his crew presenting themselves for inspection, he turned to Smee and growled,

"All hands on deck."

"All hands on deck!" Smee trumpeted instantly, and as the call was repeated down into the hold the first mate returned his gaze nervously to his captain. "Sir… you're bleeding; let me help you with that."

Snarling, Killian pushed away Smee's handkerchief. Heedless of the blood trickling from minor wounds on his forehead and neck, he stalked forward and addressed the men, half of whom were still scrambling into view from below.

"Right, mates. I've got a new bloody game for you lot. It seems this cursed island's magic comes with a price; one which I am only too willing to pay. The rules are simple: twice up the rigging and back. Last one with boots on deck gets to shake hands with _this_."

His hook glinted in the sunlight. At his side, Smee sputtered an objection. Killian flashed him a nasty smile.

"No need to worry, Mister Smee. You're exempt on account of your skillful womanly fingers and intimate knowledge of my infirmity."

He turned back to the rest of his men, who wore shock and apprehension on their faces. "The rest of you dirty rogues, prepare to climb on my mark!"

There was an uproar as each pirate fought viciously to secure for himself the most advantageous starting position. Killian gave a sneer to cover up a grimace of pain. "Do _try_ not to kill each other, lads; I only need one corpse out of this exercise."

Smee made a whimper of anxiety. "Captain… please… why are you doing this?"

With a hard glint in his eyes, Killian calmly said,

"Begin."

The men lunged upward in their frantic climb, and Killian clutched his throbbing arm tightly against his side. Without turning his gaze to his first mate, he explained,

"Pan requires the services of this ship and crew. He was quite adamant. If we're to survive these waters, we must appease him. This is our first goodwill offering."

The first of the pirates reached the deck and leaped into their second climb. This caused chaos as they attempted to work their way past those still heading down. One descending man lost his grip and fell several meters to the deck. He struggled to his feet and grasped at the rigging, sending a panicked glance at his captain. Killian shrugged in unconcern.

"On you go, sailor. I said nothing to discourage creativity."

Killian's arm spasmed again, and he cursed. He pulled out his flask and drained it dry as the most spry of his crew began assembling on the deck after their second descent. Panting, and knowing they were safe, they hesitantly started calling encouragement to their slower crewmates. Those still climbing pushed themselves harder, their sobs of desperation clearly audible from below.

When seeing his dire position as last man to begin the final descent, one pirate, Skylights, lost hold of his reason. Hoping to beat the others by taking the fast way down, he threw himself from the top of the rigging. He landed hard on the deck, leg breaking with an audible snap. His cries of pain were muffled by the reactions of the others, both cheers and jeers at the foolhardy decision. Killian watched the proceedings with a cold glower. Smee looked as if he wanted to be sick.

The race was down to the final three men, none of whom had much reason to be up in the rigging very often. All three decided at almost the same instant to follow the example of Skylights, though they were closer to the deck and thus landed safely. Killian approached the man that had finished last, who immediately began sniveling and begging to be spared. The captain grabbed him roughly by his shirt collar, only to shove him away again contemptuously.

"Fortune favors you today," Killian spat at the man. Then he turned to the moaning form of Skylights, who still lay sprawled. "Skylights, mate." He shook his head in mock pity. "Bad form, acting impulsively. What use are you to me, now? This ship is no charity."

He crouched next to the unlucky pirate. Smee followed suit.

"Captain Jones. Are you sure about this? His leg will heal. You… We need _all_ the men… You can't just…"

Killian struck like lightning. Smee's cry of pain was echoed by Killian's own as the hook buried itself in Smee's forearm. Killian hauled Smee to his feet and then shoved him viciously to the side, the hook tearing free of the first mate's arm.

" _I'm_ the captain of this vessel!" Killian bellowed, cradling his brace in his hand. "You answer to _me!_ The next time you dare question me, you'll find this through your heart!"

He lifted his hook, hating how he shook with pain. Slightly quieter, resenting the mocking tone with which the horrible boy had assigned the moniker, he addressed the sullen crew. "And it's Captain _Hook_ now."

With a growl, Killian… _Hook_ returned to his crouch. Skylights trembled before him in shock and agony. "You know, in some ways, you're quite lucky. Your death will mean something. You've taken the place of your mate over there. In fact, the whole crew will be spared by the demon who controls this place. And consider this: yours is the first life taken by my hook. Quite an honor, indeed."

Skylights opened his mouth to begin another plea, but Hook didn't allow the words to even form on his tongue. He plunged his hook into the man's jugular, his roar of rage and effort quickly becoming one of torment as the brace pushed and chafed at his freshly wounded arm. Hook drew back, falling to his knees and curling his upper body over the pain as the other man quickly bled out his life in front of him.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Chapter 3: A Princely Plot_**

Killian had never been to Smee's house. He only had his address because of the wedding invitations Snow had insisted upon, and he wasn't even sure who had procured the information for the envelope.

It took him several tries to type the string of numbers into the navigation feature of his phone. Blasted thing kept adding digits and attempting to incorrectly complete his query. But finally, he managed with reasonable surety to locate Smee's residence, which was only a few blocks from the harbor.

Although Henry had once shown Killian how to request verbal instructions from the device, he much preferred to rely on his own excellent map-reading skills. And so it was that, after what would have been a pleasant stroll under other circumstances, Killian found himself staring down the front walkway of what was presumably Smee's dwelling.

The house was small, dingy gray, in obvious need of upkeep. Weeds had free reign of the yard, and they nearly choked off the path to the door. The distinct lack of lights or sound had Killian questioning whether the residence was even inhabited. Perhaps he'd gotten the address wrong. But the faded wooden numbers on the porch seemed to confirm his location. No harm in checking whether anyone was about.

Killian brushed aside grasping tendrils on his way to the door, conjuring brief memories of a trek through Neverland's jungle. Without allowing himself any time to reconsider, he knocked immediately upon reaching the door.

A considerable amount of time passed, even after he rang the door's bell, and he couldn't deny the small wave of relief as he turned to go. But then he heard the inside latch being drawn aside, and rotated back to face the opening door.

Smee looked startled to find his former captain on his front porch. "Captain! Er… to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Afternoon, Smee. Forgive my dropping by unannounced. I merely wished to inquire of your plans for the afternoon."

"Uh… my plans, sir? I… well, nothing important. Just doing a little… reading."

"Ah. Well, I've no wish to intrude. As you were."

Killian winced inwardly. Giving orders just came so naturally around the other man.

"W... why, Captain? Did you have something in mind?"

Killian did his best to soften his demeanor. "It's a fine day for sailing, mate. I thought perhaps you'd care to join me."

"Sailing, sir? On the Jolly Roger?"

"Aye." He bit back the accustomed sarcasm and merely smiled. "If you're so inclined."

"Well…" Smee considered for a long moment. Then he shrugged. "It _has_ been a while. Okay, why not? Let me just… get some sunscreen, and… stuff."

"Take your time," Killian replied, anxiety shivering in the pit of his stomach. "There's no real hurry."

Smee hesitated before rubbing at the back of his neck, ashamed. "I know I ought to invite you in, but… well, I wasn't really expecting company…"

"It's quite all right. May I suggest we meet at the docks? I'll begin the preparations so we can set sail as soon as you arrive."

"Okay. Yeah, that sounds good, sir. See you in a bit."

Smee snuck inside and shut the door hurriedly. Killian exhaled his nerves and focused on the prospect of a reunion with his beloved ship. Regardless of what lay ahead, he knew he could count on the Jolly Roger to bring him comfort and strength.

He would likely need it this day.

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It truly was a magnificent afternoon to be sailing. Cloudless skies, light breeze, gently sparkling seas. Warm, but not uncomfortably so. Killian was sorely tempted to discard his plan; to push it to the back of his mind and just enjoy the day. It wasn't as if he'd told Smee about it. And it would surely mar the other man's afternoon as well. Yet his guilt gnawed away, especially as he worked with Smee to guide the Jolly out to open ocean. The first mate's accustomed anxiety; the cringing way he followed orders and attempted to anticipate Killian's wishes; his quick and panicked apologies for every misstep… Killian didn't want it anymore. It had to change. No matter the cost.

The two men were quiet apart from short exchanges necessary for smooth sailing. Killian found himself wanting to remain aloof until the time was right. After all, humanizing himself prematurely would only encourage Smee to hesitate, to hold back, and that would be counterproductive.

About an hour out of town, Killian left operations to Smee and slipped below deck. The slight shiver that raised the hair on his limbs and scalp had little to do with the change in temperature once out of direct sunlight. The only word for it: dread.

His subconscious could have dreamed up any number of ways to encourage and channel Smee's anger. Yet he had to admit, it would be appropriate. It wasn't so much the pain he feared: he was certainly no stranger to _that_. It was the boy slave in him who cried out now, reliving every punishment; just, or more frequently, unjust. The scars he bore went way beyond the physical. That part of him howled frantically, fighting his every move as he entered his cabin purposefully.

He still knew exactly where to find it. Much to his chagrin.

Lash gripped tightly in hand, Killian made his way back aboveboard. Smee had just finished attaching fishing poles to the railing, and he turned as Killian approached.

"Ah, Captain! I thought maybe you'd like to bring back something fresh-caught for dinner. I hope you don't mind I found all the gear…"

His gaze fell on the cat'o'nines, and Killian saw the color drain from his face.

"S...sir?" He tried a shaky smile. "Where did you find that old thing?"

Killian took a breath and turned to rest his forearms on the rail, peering out over the glittering ocean. "Smee, I owe you an apology."

Taken aback, Smee fumbled nervously with some fishing line. "For… for what?"

Killian glanced sideways at his first mate, then lowered his gaze to the water. He could see where the old-fashioned floats moved gently on the waves.

"I've been horrible to you," he finally said. "Ever since that bloody day I forced you to join the crew. And you only ever repaid my cruelty with loyalty."

"You… had your image to maintain," Smee pointed out carefully. "I knew that. I didn't take it personally."

Killian turned to face him, right hand still holding the lash out over the water. A small part of him whispered that he should drop it; just let it go; no one was forcing him to do this.

"And after the curses? Here in Storybrooke? There was no crew to keep in line; no rival captains to impress. I'm supposed to be this… changed man, and yet as recently as a few weeks ago I'm right back into the old habits with you."

Smee shifted uncomfortably. "That was… that was all my fault, Captain. I was clumsy, and… and I hurt you… I deserved it."

"You didn't. You never did."

Shrugging and glancing down at the fishing lines, Smee brushed off the comment. "It's fine. Honestly, Captain. I'm okay."

"You're not. No one could put up with all of that abuse and not harbor resentment."

"I don't resent you, sir. Honest."

"You missed my wedding."

Smee's face fell. "I'm so sorry, sir… something… something came up." He took a nervous step back, as if expecting an outburst. "Please don't hate me, Captain."

Killian clenched his jaw. Smee was obviously still terrified of him. "I don't hate you. And I'm not angry; that's not the point."

"Well, then… what is?"

"I would like to make amends. Take the first step towards treating you as a friend. Seek reconciliation."

"That's… really not necessary, sir…"

"Smee, please."

Smee fidgeted for a moment, then nodded. "Okay, Captain. I do… appreciate the sentiment."

"Will you accept my apology?"

"Of course," he replied hurriedly. Killian knew it was more to end the difficult conversation and appease his captain than anything else. But he decided not to push it.

"Thank you. It… may be difficult to change my ways. But I will do my utmost. In the meantime… there's something else I owe you."

He lowered his arm and allowed the lashes to dangle free over the deck. Smee took another step back, looking terrified.

"C… Captain?"

"I was thinking of one of this realm's ridiculous films, and it gave me an idea. An apostrophe, you might say."

A trace of confusion mingled with the fear on Smee's face.

"I gather you haven't seen that one."

Killian deftly flipped the handle in his fingers, then lifted his hand to hold the end out toward the other man. Smee glanced down and back up to Killian's face. "Aye. Take it."

With a trembling hand, Smee accepted the instrument, holding it out away from himself distastefully. "What… exactly do you have in mind?"

Killian gazed down at the braided cords as they quivered in time with Smee's arm. "I've doled out far too many lashes on this deck. It's time I took some myself."

The look on Smee's face hardly changed as Killian began unbuttoning his shirt. "N… no, Captain, that's… really not necessary…"

Killian stripped off the shirt, leaving his upper body bare. "Shall I make it an order, Mister Smee?"

Smee swallowed, and Killian winced inwardly. He hated to once again take advantage of his power over the other man. His whole intention was to level the playing field; to interact with Smee as equals. But Smee needed to let go of any anger or resentment first. Killian had a feeling that once he got started, it would be easier, but he would need a push to get to that point. Heading over to the mast, Killian adopted all of the bravado he could muster. "You know the drill, sailor."

He heard Smee's timid footsteps following a few paces behind. Taking a steadying breath, Killian stepped up to the mast and wrapped his arms around it. He snaked both wrists underneath the cords of rope wound around the wood, to give himself something to hold on to as well as reduce the temptation to duck out of reach. When he was somewhat secured, he rested his right temple against the timbers.

"Begin," he said simply, willing his voice to remain steady. Smee shuffled his feet nervously.

"Captain… please…"

"Do it, Smee."

A moment later, his voice barely above a whisper. "H… how many lashes, sir?"

"One dozen," Killian replied, knowing the number was not important.

With a strangled breath, almost a sob, Smee set his feet. "One."

The cords caressed Killian's back, barely a sting. Killian shifted so he could just see Smee out of the corner of his eye.

"Is that the best you've got?" he taunted. It would take some winding up. Smee wouldn't look at his face. Killian sighed. "What was that one for, then?"

"F...for? Captain?"

"Aye. Each strike must have its meaning."

"I don't understand."

Killian thought a moment. "For all the times I called you a clumsy oaf."

Smee gave a quiet, rueful snort.

"Two," Killian prompted. "With feeling this time, Smee."

The whip struck again, slightly harder than the first time, leaving a familiar burning trail across his back.

"For… making fun of me in front of the crew."

"Aye. Next."

"Three." Another trail criss-crossed the first. "For calling me names when I was with a lady."

The corners of Killian's mouth twitched, and he was grateful that Smee couldn't see his struggle not to smile. Smee seemed to be thinking.

"Out with it. Four?"

The cords whistled through the air. They contacted his lower back this time, sending a jolt of genuine pain through his torso.

"For taking your anger out on me, even when I didn't do anything wrong."

Killian closed his eyes, guilt and shame washing over him. Smee had always been his whipping boy. And it was true that he had very rarely deserved Hook's wrath. "I'm sorry," he whispered. But the cat seared across his shoulders, and he took a sharp, hissing breath.

"Five. You used to trip me, then kick me when I was down. Do you remember? Then laugh and blame _me_ for being clumsy!"

Killian took a shuddering breath. He remembered all too clearly. He felt a trickle of sweat- or was it blood?- run down between his shoulderblades.

"Six."

Smee was definitely getting into it now. The lash sliced viciously across Killian's back, and he lurched forward into the mast, squeezing his eyes tight against the pain.

"I never wanted to be on your crew in the first place! I mean, yeah, if it was that or die, of course I would agree… but you could have let me go. Instead I'm dragged to Neverland for who knows how long, everyone I know is long gone, and I'm essentially stuck."

Killian was glad of the moment of rambling; it gave him a chance to catch his breath. But it was over all too soon.

 _Whack!_ Killian let out a growl and dug his hook into the mast.

"You made me do horrible things to people! I was a pretty decent guy before I met you. Ok, maybe a little self-serving, but who isn't? And now I can't get those sights out of my head. I have nightmares every night. You wouldn't let me just watch, I had to… _participate_!"

Smee emphasized the word with another lash. Nine cords cut deeply into Killian's shoulders. His breaths were coming in ragged gasps now as he clung desperately to the ropes around his hand.

"You never… _thanked_ me…" ( _Thwack!)_ "Never… _appreciated_ me… ( _Thwack!)_ "Never asked about my _well-being_ …" ( _Thwack!)_ "I was your first mate and you took me for granted!"

Killian trembled against the mast, gasping in sobs, entire back in agony. The waistband of his jeans was scarlet with blood, the deck beneath his feet splattered with it. But Smee wasn't finished.

The whip sliced through the gashes already glistening across Killian's shoulderblades, tearing away little pieces of flesh. Killian stifled a yell, desperately struggling to hold onto consciousness.

"You… you killed your own crew. Guys I had grown fond of. For nothing! They were my mates. Skylights… and… and… Turely… Why did you _do_ that?"

For a long while, all that could be heard were the seabirds, the gasping of both men, the soft creaking of the ship as it moved on the water. Killian shuddered and tried to steady himself on his feet. Each breath tore agonizingly at the mess of lacerations on his back. He thought it might be over, and felt a wave of relief. He groaned, and in a voice husky with pain and emotion, began,

"Smee… I…"

"Do you know what the worst part is?" Smee interrupted, and Killian squeezed his eyes against helpless tears. There was more.

"You… traded him. You sold him… like livestock, you sold him. My boy. My son. You… _sold_ him!"

With a yell, Smee brought the cat down on Killian, harder than ever, again and again. The agony overtook all of Killian's senses until he could no longer differentiate between Smee's cries of anger and his own screams of pain. It felt as if the cords had multiplied; that each time they struck, they somehow covered his entire back at all once. That all the skin must be gone, his muscles shredded, his bones exposed. All strength left him, and he found himself hanging from his hook.

The deck was now deathly silent. Killian wondered briefly if the beating was still continuing, and he had lost the ability to feel individual blows. But then he heard Smee curse softly, and the bloodied lash clattered to the deck.

"Gods, Captain… I… what have I done?"

Unable to answer, Killian hung limply. His hand had come loose from the ropes and dangled at his side. His knees didn't quite reach the floorboards. He waited, on the edge of unconsciousness. Some part of him tried to process Smee's last outburst, but he could barely remember his own name at that point.

Smee appeared in his peripheral vision, face drained of all color. He seemed relieved to find Killian's eyes open, but reluctant to touch him and cause more pain. Then he held up a flask.

"Captain? Can… can you swallow?"

Killian watched groggily as Smee reached carefully forward with the flask and put it to his lips. He gently tilted the container and allowed a trickle of rum into Killian's mouth. But Killian chose to spit it out.

"Just… water… if you please… Smee." Killian's voice was hoarse and weak. Smee disappeared and Killian closed his eyes. Then he made a short-lived attempt to free his hook. Twitching so much as his bicep sent fresh waves of agony all down his back. He stilled, making soft, uncontrollable moans with each exhale.

Several moments of torment later, Smee was pouring water slowly into his mouth. Killian swallowed painfully, although more than half of the portion spilled out before he was aware of it. Smee followed the first mouthful with two or three more, then pulled back.

"I… we need to get you to your cabin," Smee stated fearfully. "Do you think you can stand?"

Killian couldn't even find the energy to open his eyes. "G… give us a moment… Smee…" he slurred.

"It's just… you're bleeding quite heavily… I need to get you patched up before we get you back to Storybrooke… to Emma."

"All the better... to attract the sharks, mate," Killian replied, although he wasn't sure why.

"Just… Just hold on, Captain, all right?"

Smee took hold of Killian's brace and gave a sharp twist, freeing it from the hook. Now Killian hung from Smee's grasp, still leaning limply against the mast. Smee carefully hoisted Killian's brace up over his own shoulders. Killian gasped as the new angle in his shoulder pulled at his open wounds.

With Smee's staggering step sideways, Killian's head lost the support of the mast and flopped forward so his chin contacted his chest. His feet stirred beneath him, as if trying to help of their own accord. It reminded him of all the times Smee had helped his drunken self below; an image that struck him as incongruously funny. But he knew laughing would hurt. _Everything_ hurt.

Smee was still holding Killian's brace with both hands. Panting with exertion, he extended his right arm across Killian's chest and grabbed his captain's right wrist. Then they began the long trek down below. Smee essentially dragged Killian along like an oversized bag of grain. For his part, Killian moaned with each step and wondered if the tilting of the deck was due to rogue waves or blood loss.

When they reached the stairwell, Smee stopped to wheeze for a moment. He was drenched in sweat and gasping for breath. Killian slitted his eyes open and slammed them shut immediately when vertigo attempted to send him toppling forward into the darkness.

"Almost… there," Smee grunted, more to himself than his half-aware captain. He released Killian's right wrist, choosing to use his hand to steady them against the wall.

They took the steps one at a time. Smee stopped after each one to be sure he and his cargo were balanced. Killian felt like he was being swallowed by the depths of the Underworld… again.

After they had reached the bottom, it took less time to make it to Killian's cabin, where Smee deposited Killian as gently as he could onto the bunk. The change in position ripped a cry from Killian's throat, and he tucked his arms tightly to his sides.

The intimately familiar surroundings and cooler air brought back some of Killian's lucidity. He was on his stomach, face planted into the bedspread, feet hanging half off the side of the bed. He could hear Smee tearing through drawers and cursing softly. Killian clenched his teeth, turned his head and shuffled his legs to a more comfortable position, and growled in agony. Then he mumbled,

"Bottom right hand drawer, Smee."

Smee glanced back at him with a wan smile. "I knew that." He scrambled to his right and found the first aid supplies.

Killian winced, hissing,

"Bloody hell, mate; I wasn't positive you would have it in you."

It was Smee's turn to make a face. "I'm sorry, Captain. I don't know what came over me."

"No. No apologies. This is… this is penance, justly deserved."

Smee pulled a chair to Killian's bedside. He placed the supplies he'd collected within easy reach. "If you say so. Rum?"

Again, he offered Killian his flask, and again the pirate refused. "Not this time, Smee."

"But… well, I hate to state the obvious here, but… this is going to hurt."

"Aye. That it will."

Smee swallowed nervously and then inspected Killian's bleeding back with an expert eye. "Some of these will need to be sewn closed, at least until Sheriff Swan can heal them."

Killian nodded. "I trust your judgment."

Smee looked up from reading the label on a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, which Emma had added to the Jolly's supplies before one sailing excursion with Henry. "You… do?"

"Of course I do. Why else do you think I kept you around all those years?"

"So… not comic relief, then?"

Killian gave a small smile. "To be honest… a bit of both, I think." The smile became a grimace and a hoarse cry of pain when Smee began drizzling the peroxide over his back. Smee winced in sympathy.

"Sorry, sir."

Killian gripped the bedspread beside him tightly to keep from shoving Smee away. The tingling, burning of the chemical reaction moved up his back as excess blood-tinged peroxide streamed down his sides. Through his gasping breaths he could just barely hear Smee say,

"I hope this blanket isn't precious to you."

The blanket was the last thing on Killian's mind at the moment.

"Bloody hell, that stuff's not much better than the seawater," he finally managed to grit out. Then he was panting and writhing again as Smee gingerly dabbed at some of the blood, trying to get a better view of one of the gashes. Killian felt him gently pinching the skin over his right shoulder blade and had to battle the sudden and familiar panic that always preceded the first touch of the needle.

"W-wait, Smee… please… just…" Killian pleaded, trembling.

But Smee knew not to hesitate. With sure movements, he pierced the needle through the edges of the wound, anticipating and moving with Killian's flinches. Smee talked right over the cries his captain made into the bedspread. "Now, Captain. You know as well as I do that it's better to get it done than let you anticipate it. And I'm quick besides. I know my business all right; well, I'd hope so, after all the practice. One more, I think, on this one… and… done."

He expertly tightened the knot and snipped the thread while Killian shivered and wheezed.

"Gods, that's worse than I remember," he groaned huskily.

"Well, I think your memories are fogged by rum… speaking of which…"

Killian grimaced as he shook his head. "Still a no. And please stop asking, or it may become yes."

"I don't get the sudden refusal of painkiller." Smee grasped the corner of another cut, slightly longer than the first and running a parallel track below it. Immediately hyperventilating again, Killian buried his face in the mattress. "I'm just saying, it would be easier for both of us."

Killian wanted to pass out. His body was practically begging. And most of his mind would gladly acquiesce. But that one stubborn voice spoke against the rest: if rum was cheating, unconsciousness would be even more so. This was a punishment; it was _supposed_ to hurt. So he remained awake. Felt every stab of the needle, every knot pulling his damaged skin together. Clenched his fist, jaw, and eyes until they ached. Yelled his throat raw. Because he deserved it.

Sometime later, not nearly soon enough for Killian's liking, Smee paused in his ministrations. He got up from the bed, shuffled over to the table, and then returned.

"Finished?" croaked Killian. Smee winced.

"Not… quite. Just needed to reload." He held up a length of thread, and Killian swore softly. Then Smee was holding a canteen to his mouth. "Water. You should drink."

With the awkward angle of his head, and being unable to change position, not much of the water actually made it into Killian's mouth. But he was grateful for even that small amount. Smee took a swig himself, drizzled more in the general direction of Killian's lips, and then got busy threading the needle.

Killian shifted slightly on the bed, straining his neck to attempt a look in his first mate's face. Smee's words from before were finally starting to sink in. "Smee. You… had a son?"

The other man froze. He glanced at Killian's sweaty, tear-stained face before dropping his gaze to the floor. Then he turned his attention back to Killian's injuries. He pinched the next gash to be sewn, saying,

"Almost halfway done. Hang in there, sir."

"Bloody _hell_ , Smee," Killian gasped as he jumped at the sudden sting of the needle. "A name… a distraction…." he gritted out before once again having to clamp his jaw tight.

"I… shouldn't have said anything, Captain. You probably won't even remember."

With several short breaths through his nose, Killian was able to gather the control to growl,

" _Name!"_

Smee sighed. "Richard. Richard Smee, technically, but he went by his stepfather's name, Casey. His mother and I were never on the best of terms, but I did try to do right by the boy. When he joined the navy, I despaired of ever seeing him again. That's why I hung around the harbor so much. I was trying to get a glimpse of him. And how I ended up on your ship to learn of that cursed bean: I snuck aboard to meet up with him."

He switched to working on a particularly deep laceration directly across the middle of Killian's back, and Killian became lost to the pain again.

Smee worked swiftly and silently. He wasn't sure how much more his captain could stand. The man was trembling violently; mostly quiet now, but occasionally letting out a pained grunt or moan that told Smee he was still conscious. Smee gave a small shake of his head, feeling such remorse for the pain he had caused and continued to cause, but also admiration, and… was it pride? That this stubborn, confident, clever man valued him enough to offer this gesture, as misguided as it was.

Killian felt himself beginning to reach that point of pain overload. Every once in awhile, individual stabs of the needle would differentiate themselves, and he would gasp and cringe. But for the most part, his whole back was now consumed by fire. He would never know how Smee could work back there without being burned. Why did the needle and thread and his first mate's hands not combust right along with Killian's skin? He would have to ask Emma if Smee had hidden magic. Maybe she would be able to help him recall what happened to Casey, too. Who even _was_ Casey? Emma would know, surely. Except she wasn't there then, he realized. And neither was Milah. And if he knew _that_ , he also knew when he had murdered Smee's son. He just couldn't remember for the life of him. It was probably because of the Underworld flames roasting him, blackening and charring his skin so that cinders of him floated among the brimstone. He let out a whimper, desperate to douse the fire, but then he remembered. He deserved it.

That demon Hades forced some liquid into his mouth. Killian choked and lashed out with his right arm only to be left moaning at the renewed torment from his back.

"You should really lie still now, Captain," said Hades in a respectable impression of Smee. "Or you'll open those wounds right up again."

Killian half-opened a bleary eye, confused beyond belief. The room spun for several heartbeats until resolving into his cabin aboard the Jolly Roger… or a good imitation of it. He took some breaths to combat rising nausea before mumbling,

"Smee? Is this… the Underworld?"

His voice sounded shaky and weak.

"Gods, I hope not," Smee answered cheerily from across the room. "Or all of that work will have been for nothing."

Killian blinked and swallowed. Right. Smee, and the Jolly Roger. The cat'o'nines. His penance. "What're you doing?" he slurred.

"Cleaning up, sir. Should I stop? You want some quiet now?"

"You're… finished, then?"

"A few minutes ago, yes. You must not have heard me. You were a little out of it at the end, there."

Now that Killian's hand was up near his face, he could swipe at the sweat coating his skin. He winced at the movement of muscles beneath the freshly-sewn wounds.

Smee seemed to have the same thought, for he brought over a damp handkerchief, along with the canteen of water. Moving the chair closer to the head of the bed, he helped Killian to freshen up and take some more mouthfuls of water. Then he sat back, looking glum.

"I know you don't want apologies, but… I'm going to say it anyway. I'm sorry. I just… once I got started, I couldn't stop."

"I had a suspicion that might happen." Killian wanted to say more; to reiterate his own apology, to beg for Smee's forgiveness. But he was exhausted, groggy, and still unable to collect his memories of Casey. And he wasn't exactly in the most comfortable position for a heart-to-heart. So he made do with, "I don't blame you, mate. It's all right."

Smee sighed and then stood. "Well, I'm serious about you getting some rest. I'll do what I can to get us home. Not too sure about sailing solo, but… I guess I'll just weigh anchor and hope for the best."

Killian grimaced an uneasy smile. "I have faith in your abilities, Smee." He was only half lying. "And… thank you. For patching me up."

Smee grinned back. "Anytime, Captain! Uh, that's not exactly what I mean. Not a hope for you to get injured again, at all. S-sorry."

Killian closed his eyes with a patient smile. "I understand."

"Of course you do. I just wanted to… you know… make sure…"

As Smee exited the cabin and started up the stairs, Killian could hear him softly berating himself for putting his foot in his mouth _again_. And Killian felt only affectionate amusement.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Chapter 4: And Cater to Captain Hook_**

 _~Neverland: Day 1 (Continued)~_

"Smeeeee!"

Smee winced at the sound. Pausing in tending to his wounded arm, he staggered to his feet, calling,

"H-hold on, Captain, I'm just…"

The door to the crew cabin burst open and Hook stumbled in. Holding the doorframe for support, he squinted to bring his first mate into focus. He took in the blood soaked rags on the table and sneered. Then he held up his wrist, free from brace and bandages. It was dripping blood.

"I've split me _bloody_ stitches on your _bloody_ hide."

Smee looked down at his feet. "S-sorry, sir."

Hook pushed off the doorframe and took a drunken step forward. Smee hastily tucked the ends of the bandage around his own arm in anticipation of the captain's wishes. Setting aside the pain for the sake of his life, Smee scurried forward to assist Hook to a chair. The pirate leaned heavily on his first mate as his equilibrium listed dramatically to the right.

"Gods," groaned Hook when he'd landed roughly on his perch. He swiped his hand over his eyes and then looked to Smee with a glazed stare. Smee gently took hold of his left arm.

"Let me see, sir," Smee said hesitantly. Hook's right arm flopped in his direction, and Smee closed his eyes and flinched away, but Hook's intention wasn't to strike him. Instead, the pirate captain grasped his own forearm, closer to his elbow than where Smee held it, as if fearful the wounded arm would pull away of its own accord. Smee blotted at the trickle of blood from the reopened edge of the wound and Hook let out a low growl.

"S-sorry, sir." Smee held pressure to the area, hoping to staunch the bleeding that way. When the worst of the resulting pain had subsided, Hook glared at the cowering man.

"Well, Mister Smee. That was quite the exhibition earlier." There was a slight slur to the words, and his voice was raspy with pain, but Smee could tell he was still dangerously in control of his faculties.

"I'm sorry, Captain," squeaked Smee. "I just thought you might regret it later, losing one of your men."

Hook's eyes flashed. "Well, now, that's not exactly the point. You seem not to have learned who's in charge aboard this vessel."

Voice small with terror, Smee assured him,

"It won't happen again, sir."

"It will bloody well _not_ happen again. But you must still be punished."

A whimper escaped Smee's throat, and he indicated his own still-bleeding arm with a whine.

"But, Captain… isn't this punishment enough?"

Hook scoffed at the wound. " _That_ , Mister Smee, was due entirely to your insubordinate decision to stand in my way. The more grievous error was your questioning my authority in front of the crew. And for that, I think, a session of making love to the gunner's daughter will set you straight."

His wide grin was terrifying, and Smee cowered miserably.

"Aye, sir," he whispered.

"Good man," Hook hissed. Then he raised an eyebrow at Smee's hands, which were still clutching his wrist. "Now. As much as I enjoy holding your hand… I do have an engagement this evening."

Smee nodded, struck speechless by the lump in his throat. He removed the bandage and watched the blood continue to flow. "I…" He cleared his throat and started again. "I ought to sew this closed again, sir."

"Get on with it, then."

Smee hurried to comply. Fortunately, he had a thread and needle already prepared, having intended to work up the nerve to use it on himself. Hook dug out his flask and took a large draught, then set it close at hand and resumed his death grip on his injured arm. The fingers of his hand were white with the pressure, which actually helped to stem the bleeding.

Smee's hands shook as he pulled a chair up to his captain's side. That first day, he had been pressed into service by a terrified crew because no one dared to be the one ministering aid to the raging, grief-stricken pirate. Smee was their worthless captive, so if the captain were to have throttled him, it would have been no big loss. He'd had little training in the healing arts, but he was good with his hands. That was not to say that he spent all his spare time sewing or anything. But it wasn't hard to figure out. With four or five of the biggest crew members holding their captain still, Smee had been successful in tying off the spurting blood vessels. Dealing with the rest of the wound had proven to be more of a challenge, as the blade had sliced through so cleanly that there was no hope of pulling the edges of the skin together. So, with a haphazard combination of needlework and cautery, Smee had done the best he could. He would never forget that awful smell, though.

Now, without the adrenaline, and especially lacking the other crew members' assistance, Smee didn't know if he would be able to help Hook. Would he be capable of controlling his badly shaking hands, especially considering he himself was also injured? Would the captain have the courage to remain still enough for Smee to work, or would he lash out and possibly add another corpse to Pan's offering?

Hook tilted his head and looked at his new first mate through hooded eyelids. The man sat frozen, staring at the wound, clutching the needle as if his life depended on it. Hook was overtaken by an unexpected twinge of pity. He had felt the same way the first time he'd had to patch up… _her._

"This used to be Milah's job, you know," he said quietly. Smee blinked.

"R-really?"

Hook licked his lower lip and swallowed. "Aye. Damn good at it, she was. Hardly felt a thing." He took another swig of rum and nodded down at Smee, who seemed to steel himself and then took hold of Hook's arm. The needle seared into Hook's wrist, and he groaned. With a grimace, he drained his flask. "We promised to always take care of each other. I'm a bloody failure."

Smee concentrated on tying the first knot, not wanting to see tears in the other man's eyes. The _last_ thing he needed was to start to sympathy-cry. But he felt he should at least _say_ something.

"Sir…" he began.

He didn't really know exactly where he was going with that. Something about how no one could have stopped the Dark One, and Milah wouldn't have expected him to… But as he pushed the needle through flesh a second time, Hook suddenly lunged to his feet. Startled, Smee dropped the needle, and it swung from the thread through Hook's wound.

"Wh… what are you doing, sir?"

Hook gave him a wild look. "I've rum out of run." He attempted a backward step and only managed to knock his chair over. Overcorrecting, he stumbled forward into the table, nearly slamming his stump onto the table top. He swore.

"A… are you sure more rum is a good idea?" Smee was hesitant to question him, considering his upcoming caning for just that offense, but at least they were alone this time.

Leaning on his hand and clutching his stump against his chest, Hook glowered at Smee. "Mate. More rum is _always_ a good idea."

Smee jumped to his feet as Hook straightened. "How about… you just sit tight here. I'll get it for you. Sir."

The captain nodded carefully, and Smee righted his chair. Hook collapsed into it, wordlessly holding up the flask so Smee could take it.

Hook allowed his head to loll forward, chin resting on chest. This man Smee had potential, if he could learn discipline. He was a bit of an oaf, but probably better for his new first mate to be insecure and awkward than confident and conniving. It was unusual for a newcomer to receive such a quick promotion, but none of his other crew seemed eager to be close to their captain in his current state. None had dared complain, so far.

He hissed a breath. No amount of rum would completely dull his pain, unless he drank to unconsciousness. And he couldn't do that, not today. Pan was expecting him.

Smee returned shortly, cradling the flask in both hands. He set it gently on the table in front of Hook. "Drink up, sir."

Hook made no move to accept the rum. As Smee resumed his chair beside him, the captain winced and extended his arm, hand again around his forearm. A camouflaged smudge of blood stained his vest. Smee carefully plucked the needle from midair, where it somehow still hung on the thread. Hook growled in pain as Smee tightened and then tied off the knot.

"Returning here was a mistake," breathed Hook.

"Oh, I wouldn't say _that_ , Captain," Smee assured him as he worked. "You have time now. Time to plan. And no one can argue against the prospect of never aging."

Hook couldn't tell if Smee truly believed what he was saying, or was just trying to mollify his captain. "Aye. But the cost."

Smee shrugged and then jabbed the needle through once again. "Well, that's what they say about magic, isn't it?"

"Bloody magic," Hook spat.

"If you say so," was Smee's weak reply. "Sir."

For a long moment, the cabin was quiet except for Hook's labored breaths and occasional grunts of pain. Then Hook straightened, tone businesslike.

"Nothing to be done about it. Now, then, Smee. As I mentioned, I'm due shortly to present myself before this island's demon. I expect to return on the morrow. Can I count on you to keep the lads in line during my absence?"

"Of course, C-captain." He did not sound at all sure of his ability to do so.

"Tell them to save some rum for me, eh mate?"

Smee gave a weak smile, still focused on his work. "Aye sir."

There was another beat. Then, in almost a whisper:

"You won't… leave me? Smee?"

At the tremor in Hook's voice, Smee looked up. Through the glassy eyes, Smee saw. The fearsome pirate captain was _afraid._ He was seeking reassurance… _comfort_.

Smee hadn't met Pan yet, but he'd heard the crew telling of their last venture to Neverland; how it had cost their former captain his life. So he knew the boy was something of a menace. But for all of Hook's swagger- the bluster that had real threat behind it- he had come to fear the little monster. And they now had to forge an alliance of sorts.

The pain and terror that the past few days had held for Smee were nothing compared to the captain's agony. And despite how he'd been treated, Smee was overwhelmed with sympathy for the other man.

"I'll be here when you get back, Captain. You have my word on that."

If Smee weren't so terrified of Hook's potential reaction, he might have reached forward to pat his hand. As it was, he merely finished the knot he was working on and snipped the thread. "There. That should do it I think."

He watched for a moment to confirm the bleeding had stopped. Then he retrieved a clean bandage and began to wind it around the stump. Hook released his grip and struggled briefly to open his flask with trembling fingers. When he'd succeeded, he threw back a mouthful. Smee secured the bandage and sat back. Hook gave him a nod; the closest he would come to an outright 'thank you.' Then he shocked Smee by offering forth his flask. As Smee took his own careful sip, Hook indicated the bloody bandage around Smee's arm.

"As you were, sailor." The words were almost gentle.

Smee nervously returned the flask. He caught a flash of steel in his captain's eyes. Then Hook rose. Smee followed suit, prepared to assist Hook to his cabin, but Hook waved him off. Somehow showing less of the rum's effect than when he'd arrived, Hook made for the exit. At the doorway, he turned back when he heard Smee say,

"Captain? If… If I may… you should probably forgo the… the hook for awhile. Until you're better healed, I mean."

"Don't be ridiculous," Hook scoffed without venom. "After all… who is 'Captain Hook' without said hook?"

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A chiming bell from across the cabin startled Killian awake, and he swore vehemently. _Gods_ , he hurt. The noise sounded again, several times, and he realized it came from his phone, in the pocket of his jacket, which hung near the door. If it was getting reception, they were likely nearing land. So Smee had at least managed to sail them in the right direction. But Killian just couldn't bring himself to trust the man with docking the Jolly. Even if he couldn't lift a finger to help, Killian wanted to at least talk him through it. _If_ he could force himself out of bed without assistance.

Steeling himself, he log-rolled onto his left side, then spent several long moments making agonized gasps, face frozen in a tormented grimace. Even after the searing pain had lessened slightly, his first attempt to bend his legs failed spectacularly. He was left hissing through his clenched teeth as he fought back a sob. He contemplated giving up there, but worry for the ship and his own stubborn pride would not let him quit.

This time, he used his arm to propel his torso away from the bed while simultaneously curling his legs underneath him. His grunt of effort became a yelp of pain as the damaged skin on his back stretched and tore. It worked; at least, he somehow ended up in a sitting position, although he was fairly certain he'd reopened a cut or two. As he caught his breath, he wondered how much it would hurt when he vomited over the side of the bed. But he managed to control his rolling stomach, thankfully.

It took courage to push himself to his feet, but that actually hurt marginally less than sitting up had. By taking small, shuffling steps and keeping his upper body straight, he made it to the doorway in no more than a few minutes. He yanked his jacket down from its hanger, catching it on his outstretched arm, and dug the phone from its pocket. Several texts from Emma flashed on the screen, ranging from _I'm home, how's the sea today?_ to _It's getting late, are you coming home tonight?_ It _was_ several hours past his estimated return time, although to be honest, he hadn't expected to actually be on time.

 _Losr trsck kf the time dorry love_ , he wrote back. The device was just that much more challenging with no hook to help steady it nor interest in stumbling back to the table for assistance. Lacking the motivation and the patience to fix the errors, he sent the message as it was. She would probably think he was drunk.

The stairs up to the deck proved to be an ordeal. Even lifting his leg that high pulled at his mangled back and left him shuddering. He took it one step at a time, trying to pretend that Emma was above, cheering him on. When he reached the top, he staggered out onto the deck. He was shivering and his legs were rubbery, but he'd made it.

"Smee?" he called out. His voice was still raw, but sounded better than before. Smee hurried over.

"Captain! You're up. How do you feel?"

Killian toned down his instinctive response in deference to Smee's feelings. "Slightly better with the rest. What's our status?"

"I just spotted shore not too long ago, sir. I was actually just debating whether to come and get you."

"Well done, Smee. I knew I could count on you."

Smee straightened at the compliment. "Oh. Thank you, Captain. I… guess your guidance has paid off?"

Killian gave a rueful smile. "In matters of sailing, that may be the case. I'm afraid my worthiness as a role model in other areas falls a bit short. Now. What say we dock this vessel properly and avail ourselves of some well-deserved rest?"

"Aye-aye, sir."

"Incidentally, Smee, did you end up with any of those fish you were hoping for?"

"Ah… no, sir. But it's all right. There's plenty of it in Storybrooke." Smee reached into his pocket and retrieved Killian's hook. "I did manage to… wrestle this free, though."

Killian nodded his gratitude and allowed Smee to lock it into place. "Thanks, mate."

With Killian's guidance, Smee succeeded in docking the Jolly Roger with only slightly less finesse than her captain would have done himself. He proudly secured the gangplank and then turned to see Killian struggling to pull his shirt on.

"Uh… let me help with that," Smee offered. Together, they somehow contrived to get both arms in their sleeves, although Killian was pale and sweaty with pain as a result. The mix of bandages either wrapped around his torso or stuck carefully to less-reddened areas of his back helped to protect the wounds from the shirt's fabric; even so, the extra pressure was agonizing.

"Why don't you just leave it off?" suggested Smee. "It's a warm enough night."

"I'd rather not shock Emma too badly," Killian replied.

"Break it to her gently, you mean? I get it." He nodded knowingly. "Well, let me walk you home. I'd sleep better knowing you made it safely."

Killian answered with a weak smile and nod. "I appreciate it, Smee. I don't deserve you."

Smee seemed about to brush the comment aside, then stopped. "Maybe in the past… But you _have_ changed. Sir. I'm sorry I didn't see it before."

"I made it difficult for you _to_ see it." Killian sighed as they began their achingly slow walk. "I will do my best to avoid the old habits. I do value your friendship, and I can only hope to bring something more worthwhile to my end of things. And… since you were quite right in what you said earlier… thank you. You got me through my darkest days, and deserve far better than words alone, but it's a start. I owe you my life, multiple times."

Smee looked serious, but nodded. "You're welcome, Captain."

"Killian."

"Sir?"

"You're not required to stand on ceremony anymore. You can call me Killian… If you'd like."

Smee managed to look puzzled, fearful, and awestruck, all at the same time. "Wow. I, uh... well, I guess I'll try, sir. I mean, Killian." He made a face, as if tasting a new flavor. "A couple of conditions, though."

Killian raised an eyebrow at him.

"One… you're still 'Captain' aboard the Jolly Roger. As it should be."

"I can live with that. And the other?"

"Don't call me 'William.' Or 'Bill,' 'Billy,' what have you. I'd rather stick to Smee, if you don't mind."

With a tolerant grin, Killian replied,

"I think I can manage that. Smee."

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 **AN: That text was the actual result of my experimental attempt to type and hold my phone one-handed :) Up next, Killian has to explain himself to Emma. Don't worry, there's still plenty of whump in store for both Hook and Killian!**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Chapter 5: Unlovable_**

Killian stiffly navigated the porch stairs and paused outside their front door. The rest of the walk from the docks had taken _forever_ , as each careful step sent waves of agony all down his back. As Smee retreated down the street in the direction of town, Killian waited for his hand to stop trembling. Then, hoping that by some miracle Emma had gone to bed early, he pasted a weary smile on his face and somehow fumbled the door open.

He couldn't tell her; not yet. He _should_. She would be irritated if he waited; if he hid it from her. But he was too bloody worn out to have _that_ argument. Maybe when the inflammation had diminished, and the wounds didn't appear as bad as they were...

Emma lay sprawled on the couch with the TV on softly. She looked bored and tired, but she perked up when her eyes met Killian's.

"Hey." She pulled herself to a sitting position and patted the couch beside her. Killian ignored the invitation: once he sat down, he would likely be unable to get back up.

"I'm sorry I'm late, love," he said gently. "How was your afternoon?"

"Boring. There's dinner on the stove, but you might want to heat it up."

"Thank you. But I already ate." He had zero appetite; all he wanted was to lay himself gingerly on their bed and sleep for the next week.

"Ate what? Three-hundred-year-old hardtack?"

Killian hung his jacket on the handle of the wardrobe, being unsure of his ability to reach inside for a hanger. It was still all he could do not to cry out as a result.

Emma got up then and made her way to his side. He carefully reached his arms around her waist and bent slightly to meet her kiss. When Emma reached up, he thanked the gods above that his hair had always held such attraction for her. After a moment, Killian broke the contact and smiled down at her. But she tilted her head.

"Are you all right?"

He strengthened his fake smile. "Aye. Just tired, I suppose."

"After half a day of sailing? You're losing your edge, pirate."

This brought a genuine grin, but it faded fast. "I think I will bathe and retire to bed, if you don't mind."

"Want some company?" One of his lines, and she tried out one of his tantalizing smiles to go along with it. Killian sighed.

"Sorry, love. Not tonight."

Emma shrugged, still looking concerned. "Okay. Well, let me know if you change your mind."

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Killian obviously couldn't get under the running shower. But he did his best to remove all traces of blood and sweat from the places he could reach with a washing cloth… which weren't many. He let the water run while he agonizingly climbed into the loosest pair of pajamas he owned, brushed his teeth, and stood looking at his blurred face in the foggy mirror. Grimacing, he used his hand to pour water over his hair, with a towel draped carefully over his shoulders to catch the excess. Finally, when he had judged the length of time to be appropriate, he turned the shower off. He waited a few more moments, making "night time routine" noises for Emma's benefit.

His heart sank when he emerged to find Emma waiting for him under the covers, clothing strewn across the bedroom floor.

"If I'm remembering right," she began huskily. "Saturday nights are _almost_ as good as Sunday mornings."

" _That_ is a sight for even the most weary of eyes," he replied, trying to inject an enthusiasm he could not feel.

"You have way too many clothes on," Emma complained.

Killian raised an eyebrow, used a provocative saunter to cover up his pained steps, and slowly detached his hook from its brace.

"That's a good start…" Emma prompted as he lay the hook on the bedside table. He bit his tongue and lowered himself slowly to sit at the edge of the bed, desperately struggling to control the gasps of pain that threatened with each tug of movement at his stitches. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then practically threw himself into a twist that landed him on his hand, brace, and knees right over the lump in the covers that was Emma's unclothed form. She was so startled that she missed the obvious grimace that accompanied the move.

Choking back a cry, Killian allowed himself a groan that he hoped could be interpreted as lust. Emma certainly seemed to appreciate it. Keeping his back as straight as possible, he shuffled around so he crouched parallel to her, arms and legs straddling her body. It took all of the control in his core muscles to lower himself to his elbows in a way that didn't cause him to pass out.

He knew he was taking a huge risk. But Emma would not take excuses from him. And if he could only keep her hands… occupied… perhaps he could pleasure her before feigning exhaustion and promising she could make it up to him.

The scheme went well, at first. The feel of her lips on his and her fingers on his scalp almost took the edge off the pain every movement caused. When once she made to reach down and pull him closer with her hand on his back, he was able to catch said hand and begin kissing each finger seductively. She giggled. But then she stroked her other hand along his cheek.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Am I not pleasing you?" he teased breathlessly.

"You just seem far away."

"Then perhaps I should come a bit… closer."

At that, Emma seemed to decide that there were too many barriers between the two of them, and magicked away blanket and bedclothing alike. Momentarily startled by the cool air on his now-unbandaged wounds, Killian forgot to guard his back from Emma's questing grasp, and her hand landed squarely on his injured shoulder blade. He let out a gasp and instinctively rolled off of her, onto his right side, face contorted in pain.

Emma saw blood on her fingers. "Killian! What the hell?" Her tone was a mixture of shock and irritation. He gave her a pained smile.

"Sorry to kill the mood, love."

" _That's_ what you're going to focus on right now? What happened? Are you all right?"

He shut his eyes against another wave of pain before replying,

"In all honesty, I've been better; however, I have also had significantly worse days."

"I'm not arguing with that. But you should have said something."

He dropped his gaze, for once not even registering the fact that she had nothing on. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you."

"Keeping _what_ from me? Why won't you tell me what happened?"

"I'd rather not go into detail at present. I wasn't lying when I said I'm exhausted."

She smiled at him sympathetically, trying to be understanding. With the back of her hand, she caressed his face, careful not to get blood on him. He closed his eyes against her touch. She could now see the hollowness of his face; the lines of pain around his eyes; and she scolded herself for missing it earlier. "OK. If that's what you want. Let me just heal you, and you can get some rest."

She began to raise herself to get a look at his wounds, but his left arm shot forward to halt her. Killian hissed a breath.

"No, Swan. Not this time."

She looked confused and annoyed. "What?! Why not?"

"It's complicated." He could see a trace of fear in her eyes.

"Something to do with magic? A new villain?"

"Nothing like that," he assured her. "I just can't allow you to interfere this time."

"Why the _hell_ not?"

Her frustration boiled over, and Killian immediately regretted his choice of words. He hadn't meant to hurt her. There was a beat of silence, where Emma seemed to be attempting to search his mind through their locked gaze. Finally, Killian sighed. She would not let this go without an explanation… and she deserved one. So he told her the story, from the night of the bachelor party onward. She kept her face carefully impassive, but Killian was still able to sense her disapproval.

It wasn't too surprising, then, when her first response was,

"So you thought it would be a good idea to let him _whip_ you?"

He smirked ruefully. "There was a certain poetry to the idea, yes."

"Okay, well, as ridiculously foolish as that plan was, I still don't see the problem with me healing you."

"This pain… I choose to see it as part of my penance."

It was all she could do not to roll her eyes at him. Would he ever quit being hung up on his past offenses? "Killian," she said as gently as she could. "We've been over this. You _know_ you don't have to punish yourself anymore. I mean… wasn't the Underworld punishment enough? You were _tortured_ for goodness' sake!"

"Aye. And it was over too easily. You waved your hand and it was done."

She looked surprised and hurt, and he carried on.

"Please don't think me ungrateful. It was necessary, and I certainly appreciated it at the time. But there are likely souls still in torment who are down there because of me. And Milah, she..." His voice hitched in sorrow. "She's lost for all eternity. On my account."

"So you want to torture yourself up here."

"I don't _want_ to. I must."

She sighed. "And what about me? I'm supposed to just sit here and watch you suffer?"

He'd been expecting that, and still it made him cringe. He hated to cause her pain. But he would not take the easy way this time. "I'm sorry, love. Truly I am. But you have to let me do this."

She tried a different tactic to reach his guilt. "I really thought we were past this. Remember? No secrets? But it sounds like you've been planning this for awhile now. Why didn't you tell me how you were feeling?" She watched him work his jaw uncomfortably, and she knew. "You were afraid I would talk you out of it."

"Of course I was," he admitted. "Because if it were you in my place, I would attempt to do the same. But, Emma, I'm so good at taking the easy way out. It wouldn't have taken much convincing had you known."

"Still don't see how that's a bad thing…" she muttered.

"Look. With all this talk about heroes and villians, happy endings, and how I've undergone this great… redemption… The truth is, everything I've done for Storybrooke, I did with selfish motives. To help you; keep you safe; keep you happy by ensuring your family's safety. Every supposedly heroic act only contributed to my happy ending. I think the next step in my hero's journey is to do something difficult and selfless."

Emma watched his earnest expression. Difficult, yes, she'd give him that. Selfless… that was questionable if he did end up strengthening his relationship with Smee. And she doubted that even Smee would require Killian to suffer through weeks of non-magical healing as some sort of retribution for his actions. As for taking the "easy" way, well, she'd heard that before, and not from him. Somehow, he needed to do this, and however wrong it felt- however much she disagreed- she knew he wouldn't thank her for forcing her opinion on him.

She sighed in resignation. "Oh, Killian. You're such a stubborn idiot. But if this is what you feel you have to do… I won't get in your way."

He looked relieved. "Thank you, love."

"But I wish you would have come to me instead. Or even Archie."

"I know."

She scooted closer and kissed his forehead. "Can I at least help you with traditional methods? So you don't bleed all over our bed?"

He smiled crookedly. "Go on, then."

In an instant, a sheet was covering Killian up to his hips, and a robed Emma stood behind him. She was quiet for a long moment, horrified at the state of his back. Countless deep gashes striped the skin, a good percentage of which were stitched closed. A few of the smaller cuts oozed blood. In places where the skin was not broken, swollen welts and bruises decorated his already-scarred back. In fact, she could hardly see even one patch of untouched flesh.

Killian was glad he could not see what Emma could. Now that the difficult conversation was over, and his distraction taken away, the pain of his wounds had returned in full force. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that Emma would warn him before attempting any contact back there.

"Well…" She sounded shaken. "To coin a phrase… bloody hell."

He grunted a short laugh. "Never have those words been uttered through more beautiful lips."

"I mean… how are you even standing right now?"

"I think you'll find I'm not, at present."

"You know what I mean." She let a few more heartbeats elapse, then added. "We should really go to Whale."

"Hell. No."

"Killian…"

"Smee put a lot of effort into those stitches, and I'll be damned if I let bloody Whale undo all of it."

She let out a dramatic sigh, but didn't press the issue. She waved her hand and their first aid kit appeared. As she began to dig out bandages, she said,

"Smee must have been really angry to do all of this. How many times did he actually hit you?"

"I lost count after ten or so."

"Looks like way more than that."

"Aye, well, the instrument he used contains nine lashes. So one only has to strike once to inflict nine separate wounds."

"Lovely." She gently used some gauze to dab away some of the blood trickling from one of his open cuts. He gritted his teeth and continued tightly,

"It's a fairly common method of punishment, which I myself employed on many occasion. Although I generally wanted the crew member to recover in a day or two so they might resume their duties." He winced when Emma used butterfly strips to close one of his smaller cuts. "I'm afraid Smee hasn't the practiced hand I was able to master."

"You pirates are into some weird stuff."

He raised an indignant eyebrow. "I never said anything about enjoying it, Swan. It was a necessity to keep discipline at sea."

She applied more butterfly strips to a different oozing wound. "I'm just saying… you should have told me you needed punishment. I could have… taken care of that for you."

He heard the suggestive leer in her voice, and groaned. "And you choose to wait until I'm an invalid before mentioning that possibility?"

"Just… you know… keep it in mind. For future reference."

He was in no state to even think of such things. "Such cruelty."

Emma unwrapped a large cotton pad and, with a lot of careful maneuvering, was able to affix it over several wounds without intersecting any cuts with its adhesive edges. She did this once more and then was left with only small band-aids, which definitely weren't going to be of any help. She considered using the bandages she'd unknowingly removed with his pajamas, but they were already bloodstained and gross. So she did things the old-fashioned way, using clean bed linens as both padding and securing strips. Killian remained stoically silent through the whole process. She suspected he'd already endured far worse having Smee close the wounds with far-from-medical-grade supplies.

When she had cleaned up and rejoined him in bed, he could barely keep his eyes open. But he gingerly took her hand in his.

"Thank you, love," he murmured. She brushed hair back from his forehead.

"Good night, Killian."

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 **AN: Haha, oh Killian; what did you _think_ was going to happen? :D I think he was just so exhausted and in pain at that point that he _wasn't_ thinking. And I'm not sure that he still holds this much guilt anymore, but it was still Season 6 when he told Belle he's not able to forgive himself yet. So hopefully it isn't _too_ unbelievable that he'd still feel deserving of punishment. (I just wanted an excuse to keep him in pain as long a possible!)**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Chapter 6: Unlivable_**

Not even half an hour elapsed before the pain jolted Killian awake with a gasp. He snapped his mouth closed and tried breathing slowly and quietly though his nose. Emma flopped over onto her side, seemingly not awakened. He lay in agony for a while until exhaustion overcame him. He drifted off… only to lurch awake again, face screwed up in a grimace.

This was going to be harder than he'd imagined. Almost invariably, his long history with injury- particularly _this_ type of injury- had included rum. Sometimes large quantities of it. To dull the pain; help him sleep; fog his mind. The mind that was at present yearning loudly for his drink of choice.

This whole thing was entirely voluntary, his traitorous brain reminded him. No reason he couldn't break the arbitrary rules he'd set for himself. If he could somehow get to his feet, maybe on the pretense of using the facilities, he could make his slow and careful way downstairs, where his jacket waited, flask in its pocket. Tempting him. Calling to him. He _would_ heal faster if he slept. Emma would want that, right? And a husband was supposed to please his wife…

A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead. It was entirely too hot in their bedroom. Another very valid reason for a trip downstairs. Sweating would skew his bandages. Plus, he was already dehydrated from the earlier loss of blood. Downstairs would be _much_ cooler.

An hour's worth of pained micro-sleeps later and he growled, mind made up. Without allowing much consideration of the upcoming agony, he pushed himself up, his moan louder than he'd intended. Emma jerked awake.

"Killian?" she mumbled groggily.

"Apologies… love…" he panted, his voice almost unrecognizable with strain. "I've decided I may… find it more comfortable… downstairs."

"Can you make it?" Emma slurred.

"Aye love. Go back to sleep."

To her credit, she did hesitate a long while, until he forced himself to his feet and flashed her a completely fake smile to cover his absolute anguish. She settled back down and he allowed himself some open-mouthed gulps of air. His entire back was ablaze; his face wet- whether from sweat or tears or both, he didn't know.

Apparently, Emma wasn't as asleep as he'd thought. She suddenly waved her hand lazily and he found himself standing in the downstairs living room.

When he could breathe again, he automatically sought his jacket. It still hung where he'd left it. Flask tantalizingly close. He hobbled a few tentative steps in its direction. Tonight would likely be the worst. If he could just get through the night, maybe he could abstain the rest of the time as planned. Two more short steps. No one would know. No one really even _cared_. Smee would _want_ him to have it; had offered multiple times.

He found himself within reach. How did torturing himself all night really help anyone? Those souls in the Underworld… _Milah_ … they'd still be gone whether he drank or not. He dug the flask from its pocket, the shape and texture reassuring in his hand. Rum. The solution to everything? He popped the cork- its aroma filled his nose; stimulated the salivary glands under his tongue.

 _He_ would know. Damn it. This whole ridiculous plot… it was to challenge himself. He wasn't supposed to take the easy way, even if no one else saw him cheat. _Bloody hell_.

At the kitchen sink, he poured out the contents, silencing with difficulty the inner voice bemoaning the waste. He rinsed the flask and filled it with water.

He was going to regret this.

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Sometime during that long and dreadful night, Killian remembered Casey. Afterwards, he was surprised he'd even forgotten, considering the absolute cruciality of that particular transaction. But… there were a lot of things about that period of time he couldn't remember. Or had blocked out. Combined with the physical trauma taking place with Smee's revelation, it wasn't much wonder that the memories took awhile to return.

When they did, Killian felt even more understanding of Smee's rage… and determined to make it right.

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When Emma came downstairs late the next morning, it was to find Killian slumped face down on the couch, arms against his sides, head turned to face the room. Reddish-brown stains sullied his shirt. As she rounded the end of the couch, she could see him staring blankly ahead. His gaze flicked to her, prompting a slight, pained smile.

"Morning, love," he mumbled. She knelt before him and fussed with his hair.

"How did you sleep?"

"Not well," he admitted, itching to reach for her, to kiss her. But he knew well enough now the agony that would result.

"I'm sorry." She planted a kiss on his cheek.

"And you, love? How was your night?"

"Well… lonely. I think it was the first night I spent alone since we defeated the Black Fairy."

Guilt gnawed at him. "I apologize. I missed you, as well."

As she stroked his cheek with her thumb, Emma spotted his flask on the floor. "Did the rum help at all?"

He glanced down with a weak smile. "Only water, Swan. Regrettably."

"Really? What happened to rum fixing everything?"

"I've since found a much better solution."

Even half-hidden on the couch, his adoring expression made it amply clear to whom he referred. Emma returned the look of devotion as she traced the scar on his cheek.

"You up for some breakfast?"

He grimaced. "I do have a bit of an appetite, but no practical ideas as to the method of consuming anything."

"I'll help you," she offered, slightly ruefully. "It's not like I have much else to do this morning."

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Sunday afternoon, Emma excused them from the traditional weekly family-and-friends-get-together.

"Killian's under the weather," she explained. "No, it's nothing we can't handle… Thanks, but we've got it under control. I'll let you know if we think of anything."

She wouldn't entertain his protests that she should go without him. Even though he could only be a "bloody bore" and she would "likely glean more excitement from standing watch on a sea becalmed."

Sunday night, she wouldn't allow him to sleep on the couch again. Even though he warned her he'd likely keep her awake all night with his fitful attempts at slumber - and probably did just that.

Monday morning, she announced she was giving him sick leave. For at least a week. And promised she'd come home at lunchtime to see him. Even though she usually tried to catch up on her paperwork during that time.

He bloody loved this woman.

Monday night… early Tuesday morning, in fact… Killian felt a new, creeping malaise that was all-too familiar and unwelcome. And despite Emma's best efforts caring for the wounds the past fifty-some hours… it wasn't all that surprising. He just prayed it wouldn't get much worse.

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	7. Chapter 7

**_Chapter 7: Quite Unforgivable_**

 _~Neverland: Day 5~_

A week. One bloody week since he'd lost everything. Yes, time stood still in Neverland; yes, the days were blurred and seemed to take forever. But Hook knew _exactly_ how many nights had passed without Milah by his side. He suspected he always would.

Managing a row boat was now a laborious and awkward process for Hook. One day he'd have to fashion a special oar he could control with his hook, but for the time being, he had to carefully kneel toward the bow and alternate strokes with the single oar in his hand, like some bloody gondola operator. Exhausted and sore as he was, it was not a comfortable or efficient way to travel. But he would _not_ consider taking any of his crew to the island, not even to act as ferryman. This business was his alone.

The Jolly Roger rocked gently, silhouetted against the too-large moon that reflected too brightly on the waves. As he neared, Hook could hear the familiar ruckus of pirates enjoying the liquor stores a bit overenthusiastically. But, honestly, Hook couldn't care less. He ached all over, his left arm pulsed with pain; all he wanted was a wash and his bed. Perhaps some rum thrown in for good measure. So he skirted the ship and secured the row boat on the ocean side, hoping to avoid much notice. The sentry in the crow's nest would have spotted him, of course, and likely would have alerted Smee, but that could work to his advantage as the anxious man would scurry to do his bidding. And now that the first mate's arm and backside were on the mend, he would be much faster about it.

With a shiver, Hook rested against the gunwale of the row boat momentarily, trying to work up the energy to climb aboard. His head was throbbing and sending its ache down his neck, back, and chest. Suddenly, he could hear a conversation above him as several men chose to lean their backs against the railing. They didn't appear to know their captain lurked just below them.

"So what d'you suppose the captain gets up to when he meets with Pan?"

That was Turely. Hook scowled. Always a mouth on that one.

"Discussing business?" suggested another pirate. "Making trades? How else would he come back with all that fresh food and water?"

Smee's hysterical voice cut in. "I… I don't think we should be discussing the Captain's private affairs."

The others snickered at his poor choice of words. Turely turned his leer at the first mate. "So you think they're…" He thrust his hips forward in a rude gesture.

Smee managed to grow even more panicked. "Please! Turely! He could be back any time now!"

Turely only scoffed at that. "I'm just saying… you _know_ he's not getting it from Milah anymore."

His vicious laughter was cut short by a shriek of pain as a hook buried itself in his shoulder. He tried to flinch away from the attack, but only succeeded in slightly changing the angle at which Hook's cutlass ran him through.

Hook didn't even bother retrieving his weapon from the body as it collapsed to the deck. Quivering with rage, he vaulted the railing and seethed,

"Any other jesters aboard?!"

The men were deathly silent. No one would meet his furious gaze.

"Thirty lashes for the useless fool asleep in the crow's nest. And no rations for the rest of you lot for a full forty-eight hours. You can bloody well starve for all I care."

He took a step in the direction of his cabin only to have Smee stumble in front of him. Hands raised, the man stammered,

"C-c-cap…"

Hook lacked the patience for excuses. With a burst of strength at odds with how sick he felt, Hook hauled Smee up over the railing and into the sea. As he stormed below, he was vaguely aware of the efforts to rescue the hapless first mate, but he found he wasn't the slightest bit interested in the outcome.

Bed. Definitely bed. The bath could wait.

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Killian began to stir when a nurse wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his arm. He opened his eyes and groaned.

"What the bloody hell am I doing here?" was his predictable response, but his voice lacked its usual fire.

He was lying on his side on a bed, a curtain draped around it for privacy. Beside him, Emma had one hand on his brace while she stroked his hair with the other. "You passed out. And I'm assuming you still don't want me to heal you, so what else was I supposed to do?"

Killian clenched his jaw and winced at a stab of agony from his back.

"And you have a fever; I think your back is infected."

He knew from long experience that she was right. But magic pain-killing drugs were _not_ in his plan for recuperation.

From behind him, the nurse spoke up. "I'm going to take a drop of your blood to check your glucose and hemoglobin levels."

As the nurse poked Killian's finger, Emma muttered,

"Somehow I doubt the problem is his blood sugar."

Killian closed his eyes momentarily. He just wanted to be back in his bed at home. "Look, Swan, I…"

"I know. You don't want to be here; you don't want treatment. But I'm not gonna let you kill yourself for your messed-up ideas of penance."

"How do you feel now, Killian?" asked the nurse from beside Emma.

He decided not to take his frustration out on the lady for doing her job. He put on a weak smile and replied,

"Not at my best, but I can assure you that I don't need to be here."

She smiled back. "You know, a lot of people say that. But it's always better to get checked out anyway. We'll do our best to get you back on your feet."

With that, Dr. Whale bustled through the curtain. His smile was pretty obviously fake, as well. "Good morning."

Killian groaned again.

"Always a pleasure to see you too, Hook." He took a look at the vital signs the nurse had recorded. "What seems to be the problem today?"

When it became apparent that Killian would not be a willing participant in the conversation, Emma took charge.

"He got injured a couple of days ago, and I think he might be getting an infection."

Whale seemed on the verge of rolling his eyes. "Injured, huh? And let me guess: he didn't seek medical attention?"

"Won't let me heal him, either."

The doctor couldn't have looked less surprised.

"Want me to order a psych consult?" he quipped under his breath to Emma.

"Look, mate," Killian broke in. "I don't want to waste your time; I'm sure you've others to see. I feel better now."

He tried to raise himself on his elbow but hissed a breath when the pain in his back and his raging headache prevented him.

"I can see that. Where were you injured?"

Killian went silent again.

"His back," Emma supplied.

"May I take a look?"

Killian didn't say _no_ , exactly, so Emma used magic to remove his pajama top and bandages. There was a pause as Whale took in the sight.

"Well… I'd confidently go with the infected theory."

Emma could tell by the look on his face that he was startled by the severity of the injuries.

"You should have definitely come in earlier. You're developing an infection that could have been prevented if we had cleaned those up right and started antibiotics."

With closed eyes, Killian replied,

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

Whale sighed. "Well, let's get you admitted. I'd like to start some IV fluids and antibiotics. And we may have to surgically debride those lacerations. We can stitch them up nicer for you too."

"No," Killian gritted out.

There was a beat.

"No to what?" Whale asked patiently.

"All of it," Killian replied painfully. Then he looked at Emma. "Take us home, love. Please?"

Emma scowled at him. "You won't let me use my magic to fix you, so I'll be damned if I use it to take you away from the only other people who can help."

"You _need_ treatment," Whale insisted. "Wounds as extensive as this, especially if they become infected, can easily become life-threatening."

Killian only shifted on the bed with a grimace. Dr. Whale met Emma's gaze.

"What is this really all about?"

"He's convinced that he deserves it. Won't let anyone help him because he's a stubborn ass."

Temper rising, Killian opened his eyes to look belligerently at the doctor. "Look, mate, I know how it works here; you can't do anything to me without my consent."

There was another tense silence, with Whale looking helplessly at Emma. Finally she turned all her attention on her husband.

"Killian, please. Do it for me."

Killian sighed and considered her plea. Then he carefully answered,

"I will submit to your antibiotic drugs. But I'll not have any further treatment."

Whale made a wry face. "Why is it that whenever you come here you always leave AMA?" He sighed. "I'll meet you halfway. Until we figure out what's causing the infection, we need to get you on strong, broad-spectrum antibiotics, and the best way to do _that_ is intravenously. But you can do that as an outpatient, coming in for a dose every twelve hours. And that way we can also monitor the progress of the infection. Do we have a deal?"

Killian nodded. "Aye."

Within short order, he was gritting his teeth, determined to show no hint of a reaction as Whale scraped something into several places where the pain was the worst. Emma wasn't questioning it, so there must have been _some_ diagnostic value. Killian couldn't begin to guess. Eventually, the physician stepped back, saying,

"All right. Well, I'll put your orders in, and someone will be down shortly to take you up to Ambulatory Infusion."

He moved toward the curtain, and Emma said,

"Thanks, Dr. Whale."

With a sigh, Killian added, "Look. I know you're looking out for my best interests, and I do appreciate that."

Whale turned and raised an eyebrow. "Woah. You really _are_ sick if you're thanking me!" Then he brushed aside the curtain and slipped out.

Emma bent down and kissed his forehead. "Thank you, Killian."

He replied with a penitent smile. "You don't need to stay with me, love. You should head to work."

She looked hesitant. "Are you sure?"

"Aye. I'll be fine. I will send a texting message to your phone when I'm ready for you to take me home."

Still torn, but finally deciding to trust him to stick to the agreement, she nodded. "Okay. Good luck." She kissed him again. "You know I still love you, even when I'm frustrated. Right?"

Killian smiled. "And I you."

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A short while later, an orderly came and assisted him into one of those wheeled chairs which the hospital staff used to transport patients. Before leaving, Emma had used her magic to reattach his bandages exactly the way they had been, with his pajama shirt on top. But he still couldn't put any sort of pressure against the wounds, so he essentially had to sit in the middle of the chair, back straight, and grip the chair arm tightly to keep himself from leaning back. Thankfully, the trip didn't last long. He was wheeled into a room with a row of recliner chairs, none of which were occupied at present. No beds, he noted.

A woman came to greet them. She had long, very light blonde hair, similar to the Snow Queen's; almost white. An unusual star-shaped birthmark decorated the center of her forehead. She smiled warmly.

"Hello, I'm Thea. You're Killian?"

"Aye." He stiffly shook her hand.

The orderly helped Killian up and onto one of the recliner chairs, on which he had to lie awkwardly sideways. As the chair couldn't go all the way flat, there was a certain amount of pull on the skin of his lower back, especially the left side. Killian cursed inwardly and wondered if Whale knew of the set-up in here and was trying to get him to change his mind about being admitted. But that was ridiculous. Whale was a professional.

Thea hung a couple of bags of fluid from the pole beside his chair. Then she turned to study Killian.

"Are you all right there?"

"A flat surface would be preferable," he admitted.

"I'm sorry. I can see if we can find a cot to bring in here."

"I'll survive, as long as this doesn't take too long. But perhaps for the next time."

She nodded. "Once we get set up, this first infusion will take about an hour, because Dr. Whale ordered some fluids along with your antibiotic. Later doses will just be the antibiotic, so they'll be closer to twenty minutes."

"No pain killers, correct?"

She checked his orders again. "No."

"Good."

Thea set the folder down. "Do you have any allergies?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Okay. May I take a look at your arms?"

She took hold of his right arm, rotating it to visualize the inside and then the back of his hand. "We can leave the catheter in place for a few days so we don't have to poke you every time you come in. But I'm thinking we may have to be limited to your right arm, unless you'd be able to go without this for awhile." She indicated his brace.

"I would prefer not to."

"That's all right. You'll just need to be extra careful to keep the site dry, and not to dislodge it accidentally."

"I think I can manage that."

Thea retrieved some pillows from a cupboard and arranged them in front of him so he could comfortably rest his right arm on top. Then she wrapped a tourniquet around his upper arm and instructed him to make a fist. After a few moments of prodding at different veins, she selected a site on the side of his wrist, in line with his thumb and a few centimeters below the tattooed dagger's tip. She removed the tourniquet, thoroughly cleaned the skin in the area, and then repositioned the tourniquet below his elbow.

"Just a little poke, now," she warned. Killian watched as she smoothly pierced his skin, advanced the needle into the vein, and then pushed the plastic catheter in place. She held it steady with a finger as she removed the needle and then quickly attached a short length of plastic tubing, which she used to fill a couple of test tubes with his blood. Then, with her finger still over the catheter, she removed the tourniquet and replaced the tubing with a different line, which was already filled with saline and had a green plug at the other end. This she looped couple of times before securing the whole set-up against his skin with a see-through square of adhesive plastic, leaving the plugged end accessible.

"A few things to watch out for," she began as she worked on attaching the IV bags to the catheter. "Pain, redness, swelling, or a rash around the catheter site. Also any pain or stiffness in your shoulder. And, obviously, if it comes out, you'll want to put pressure on the area." She pushed a few buttons on a device through which the tubing ran. "Side effects of the antibiotic can include stomach upset, diarrhea, or yeast infections. And some people can have severe allergic reactions, so I'll be monitoring you closely for this first treatment."

She cleared away the supplies and stepped back. "Any questions?"

"How many days must I take these drugs?"

"It depends on the results of the cultures and how the infection responds. Once we know the organism and its sensitivities, we may be able to switch you to an oral antibiotic that's more targeted."

He nodded, and, seeing that he had no further questions, Thea moved away to do some other work. Leaving him to doze…

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 **AN: I know there's no canon reason for animosity between Killian and Whale, but I've read several fics where there is, and I love it every time :) Also, my limited medical knowledge comes mostly from working as a vet assistant ten years ago (and a little bit of Dr. Google!) So don't hold it against me if it's wrong. Coming up: Pan vs. Hook!**


	8. Chapter 8

**_Chapter 8: If You'd Just Care to Land_**

 _~Neverland: Day 19~_

Hook staggered his way to the deck. Twenty-one nights. Twenty-two nightmares, all jumbled together into one from which he would never awaken. And he was still _here_.

Smee was startled to see his captain out of bed. The last two weeks had been hell, with Hook in the throes of a raging infection from his amputation. Smee had done the best he could, but he had little knowledge of such things. More than once, the pirate had hovered on death's doorstep. Yet he had always pulled through- although Smee wasn't sure that was entirely for the best. Now, though he seemed lucid enough, Hook's appearance was shockingly skeletal.

"Captain!" Smee greeted carefully. "So good to see you up and about. How do you feel?"

Hook ignored the question. Squinting against the painful sunlight, his gaze took in the condition of his ship and crew. None of the men would meet his eyes.

"What's our status, Mister Smee?" he asked weakly. Smee sighed.

"Honestly… not great. We're still at anchor, sir, but supplies are low. Maybe a day or two left at most. We've tried fishing, but those blasted mermaids keep chasing all the fish away."

"Bloody hell," breathed Hook.

"We could send a foraging party ashore," Smee suggested helpfully.

"No. My orders still stand."

"Aye, Captain." Smee looked down and saw the brace and hook secured. "Sorry, sir, but… you're just going to make it worse if you insist on wearing that."

Hook gave him a withering look, and Smee raised his hands in surrender. A noise from the rigging drew the captain's attention, and he looked up. He took an involuntary step back and grew even more pale; Smee wouldn't have believed it possible. It certainly completed the corpse impression.

"Off with you, demon! You can claim no ownership here."

Smee followed Hook's gaze and saw nothing. Assuming it was another hallucination, he began the attempt to talk his captain back to bed. But then a mocking voice replied,

"On the contrary, Captain. I own these _waters_."

The boy stepped off the yardarm and _floated_ to the deck before Hook. Pan. He was bigger than the stories made him out to be; not an adult, true, but certainly not far from it, either.

"What do you want?" Hook spat. Pan grinned wickedly.

"You haven't come to see me in a while. I was starting to worry." He looked Hook up and down and smirked. "Looks like I was right to be concerned. You've lost some of your 'dashing.'" His demeanor became threatening, and Smee shrank back, but Hook managed to stand his ground. "You're not going back on our deal, are you?"

"I've been… unwell," Hook answered carefully. "But I can assure you…"

"Maybe I should have you send one of your men, instead."

Hook's fist clenched tightly. "No; you bloody well _said_ …"

Pan laughed and put a finger gently on Hook's lips. "Don't worry; it was a joke. You _know_ I only have eyes for you."

This time Hook did step back, sickened by the contact.

"I will resume our parleys when I have sufficiently recovered," seethed Hook. "In the meantime, call off your bloody mermaids so my men can eat."

Pan folded his arms. "Make me."

"What?"

"Our deal is for supplies from the island. Never did we mention anything about food from the sea."

Hook wilted slightly and then made as if to return to his cabin. "I can't do this today, boy. Get off my ship."

Pan grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. His hook came up defensively, stopping centimeters from Pan's throat. The boy only sneered.

"Who said anything about giving you a _choice_?"

Hook glared into Pan's eyes for a long moment. Then he swallowed and looked away.

"I'll just come with you now, then, shall I?" he asked resignedly.

Pan gave an approving smile at the attitude, but shook his head. "Not just yet. I had something else in mind. Our first duel."

Hook looked taken aback. Regaining some of his swagger, he huffed,

"Captain _Hook_ does not duel with _children_."

"Afraid of losing your other hand?"

"The captain is hardly fighting fit," Smee broke in from where he cowered several paces away. "He _just_ regained consciousness for goodness' sake!"

Pan cocked his head in contempt. "Did someone say something just then? Or was it a gull?"

"Smee," warned Hook, his eyes still locked on Pan. Smee shut his mouth. Quietly, Hook admitted,

"The oaf has a point, though. I'm afraid I couldn't allow the contest to continue for long."

Pan grinned at the implication. "Ooooh, I _like_ your confidence. I may just have to take it easy on you. So, what d'you say, Captain? You win, and the mermaids go back to their lagoon. I win, you get to spend the rest of the day and night working to… _convince_ me to spare your men."

There was no mistaking his designs. Most of the crew was by now encircling the deck, hoping to earn their captain's favor by surreptitiously showing their support while simultaneously avoiding attention from Pan. At the unspoken confirmation of their private speculation, several shuffled uncomfortably, scratching their heads or pretending not to have heard. Jaw clenched painfully, Hook drew his cutlass and snarled,

"Knave, prepare to die!"

Pan produced a short sword. "Have at thee, Hook."

The combatants eyed each other for a moment. Then Pan waved a pulse of magic at Hook, and his coat and vest disappeared, leaving him with just his loose shirt on his shoulders.

"No extra armor," Pan explained. "That would be cheating."

It wouldn't be anything close to a fair fight; everyone could see that. But Hook held his tongue, concentrating on maintaining his balance and keeping a wary eye on his opponent.

"Also…" A dagger appeared in Pan's left hand. "Not quite as fancy as a hook, but just as sharp."

Hook edged closer, knowing he needed to hurry the 'game' along before his strength failed him. "Aye, well, you can keep it. I prefer the hook: more practical for gutting."

He lunged forward with his cutlass. Pan parried with the sword and followed with a thrust from the dagger, which Hook caught awkwardly against the base of his hook. He choked back a pained cry at the pressure on his stump, turning it into a threatening growl as he used his weight advantage to push Pan backwards. But then the boy wasn't there, and Hook was taking several staggering steps to avoid faceplanting on the deck. Pan swiped his sword point across the pirate's back.

"Keep up, Captain," he taunted as Hook spun quickly, cutlass raised in a scything path towards the boy's neck. Pan ducked and the weapon flashed harmlessly overhead. The pirate anticipated Pan's quick answering blow, bringing his hook in a diagonal path across his body to knock the dagger aside. But his aim was off, the hook not quite a natural extension of himself yet, and he missed. Pan's dagger raked a long, shallow furrow up his ribs. Instead of flinching back, Hook stepped forward and drove his cutlass in a powerful thrust at his opponent's midriff, at the same time reversing the hook's trajectory in a slash at Pan's face. Again, Pan magicked himself away, and again Hook came up with a stinging stripe across his back. A frustrated cry escaped his throat.

"Stand and fight, you bloody coward!"

They locked blades again, and Pan replied,

"You disappoint me, darling. I prefer one of your more endearing pet names for me."

Fueled by fury, Hook heaved Pan's sword aside and managed to sink his hook into Pan's flesh, leaving a wicked curving gash in the boy's lower abdomen. The assembled crew gave a cheer at the sight, but Pan only laughed. He tossed his sword aside and snatched the hook in his right hand. Then he leapt into the air and used whatever demon-magic he possessed to continue rising. Hook swiped at Pan's legs with the cutlass, but missed, and suddenly he too was leaving the deck, being pulled by his hook. Pain shot down his arm. In a panic, he dropped his blade and scrabbled at the straps beneath his shirtsleeve as the leather and bandages chafed at his sensitive wrist. Finally, the whole contraption came loose, his arm pulled free, and he dropped heavily to the deck.

On his knees, Hook groaned several breaths and cradled the arm against his chest. His cutlass lay discarded beside him. Pan raised the hook, brace trailing bandages and straps like tentacles.

"Look, boys!" he crowed. "It's Captain Stump!"

A few of the crew quietly booed the statement. Others chose to offer words of encouragement to their downtrodden leader. Hook shut his eyes tight in a grimace before saying,

"You've won your little game. I bloody well yield."

Pan tossed aside his prize and landed beside the pirate. Deftly, he kicked Hook's cutlass into his own hand and held it to Hook's cheek. "The game's over when _I_ say it's over."

Hook opened his eyes to stare defiantly into the monster's face. Pan used the tip of the cutlass to open a shallow line below Hook's eye.

"Get up."

Hook clenched his jaw but didn't move. Pan lowered the blade marginally and began a parallel line on the side of his neck. "Get _up_ ," he repeated, more forcefully. Hook's hand shot up to grab the cutlass, heedless of the resulting blood that welled between each of his fingers.

"Damn you," he hissed, and Pan grinned when he struggled to his feet.

"That's more like it," said the boy, and he retrieved his own sword with a snap of his fingers. Meanwhile, Hook flipped the cutlass in the air and caught the handle. It slid slightly in his blood-slick grip.

There were more shouts of encouragement now: their captain's courage had emboldened his men. Hook swayed on his feet, the deck rolling despite calm seas. Pan appeared to have twinned himself. Still protecting his injured wrist, Hook stood his ground while Pan circled him menacingly. He blocked a strike from the boy, then made a half-hearted swipe of his own, which only earned him a wound to his sword arm.

"Well, _this_ is boring," complained Pan. "Liven it up now, Captain. Remember: you have your crew to think about."

Hook's glower darkened at this, and he did indeed put more fire behind his attacks. Their pace quickened; it became more recognizable as a traditional duel. Pan seemed content to forgo magic for the time being. But Hook, having started out weak and tired, only grew increasingly exhausted as the seconds ticked by. More and more of Pan's hits started landing, and Hook wasn't fast enough to prevent it. Soon, he could barely keep a grip on his cutlass. His breaths were hoarse rattles in his throat; his vision blurred and darkened at the edges.

Eventually, Pan decided he'd had enough. He easily disarmed Hook, reversed his grip on his own sword, and drove the pommel with all his strength into Hook's nose. The pirate collapsed bonelessly to the deck, instantly choking on a mouthful of blood. Pan crouched at his side and grabbed a fistful of hair to force Hook to meet his gaze.

" _Now_ it's game over. But you were right about the other part: I win. I will _always_ win. 'Cuz you're nothing but a dirty pirate."

He released Hook's scalp and stood, punctuating his statement with a couple spiteful kicks to the ribs. Hook curled helplessly in on himself.

"You have one hour, Stumpy. Then I do believe you owe me my prize." He took to the air and called out mockingly, "Don't forget to clean up first."

Then he was gone.

For a long moment, the only sound that could be heard was Hook's ragged breaths as he lay there, utterly defeated. The crew stood frozen in shock; none of them knew what to do. Finally, Smee tiptoed over to retrieve the discarded hook. His captain flinched at the movement in his peripheral vision, let out a small moan that became a sputtering cough, and spat blood. Then he used his rage and shame to propel himself to his elbow. As Smee approached cautiously, Hook lifted his trembling hand to wipe away some of the blood covering his face. His nose still gushed freely, and he could feel dozens of other small wounds from Pan's blades; each its own declaration of the demon's scorn.

His growl of anguish sprayed more blood across the deck. He looked up at Smee with a venomous scowl. And through the red haze, he could see it. There was _pity_ in Smee's eyes; in the eyes of his _crew_. He didn't _want_ their pity. Pity meant they thought him weak. So when Smee bent to offer him a hand up, he slapped it aside and lunged to his feet alone, nearly toppling back down when vertigo gripped him tightly. But he clung stubbornly to his balance and met any pitying look with a defiant glare of his own. Gently, Smee touched his elbow.

"Captain, let me hel..."

"Bugger off!"

Hook shoved him viciously. Smee slipped on a puddle of blood, and landed flat on his rear.

And then Hook stormed below deck, leaving the speechless men and their bloody _pity_ behind.

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Killian snapped back to the present when Thea began unhooking the IV.

"You're all done," she announced. "How do you feel?"

"Fine," he replied groggily.

She put a new plug in the end of the tubing attached to his arm. "That's good. We'll need you back in eleven hours or so. You don't need to make an appointment; someone will be here."

She wrapped a layer of soft, self-sticking bandage around his arm. "Remember to keep this dry."

"Aye," he replied. An orderly appeared with a wheelchair. "My thanks, Thea."

"You're welcome. Hope you feel better soon!"

The orderly helped him on with his robe and into the chair, which he then wheeled to the hospital entrance. There, Killian was able to talk the man into leaving him alone in the chair as he waited for Emma. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Killian sent her the promised message.

 _I have been granted my freedom for the next 11 hours. However, no need to rush on my account. I will meet you just inside the hospital entrance at your convenience._

A few moments later came Emma's reply: _K, see you soon._


	9. Chapter 9

**_Chapter 9: Try to Stop Me_**

 _~Neverland: Day 20~_

After Pan released him early the next morning, Hook limped slowly in the direction of his row boat. Weak, weary, aching all over... yet truth be told, he was in no hurry to make an appearance before his crew. They would all despise him now; how could they not? After what they had witnessed the day before… what they now knew about his arrangement with Pan…

Hook stopped at a small spring, crouching stiffly to slake his thirst. He scowled down at his pitiful reflection. Dark bruises ringed his eyes and cheekbones, and his nose was discolored and swollen. The cuts from Pan's blade stood out angrily red against his otherwise deathly pale skin. Add all this to his wasted form and desolate expression, and he could easily pass for a specter of some kind.

Reluctantly, Hook decided to clean himself here rather than aboard the ship. With their dependence on Pan's dubious supply of fresh water, they would need to limit their use of it to drinking and cooking purposes only. So he gingerly stripped, tossing all but boots, jacket, and vest into the water to be cleansed as well. The torn and bloodstained shirt of the previous day's battle still lay in a furious heap in his quarters; he wasn't sure if it was even worth mending.

The spring was icy, but after the initial sting against his wounds, the temperature actually helped numb some of their fire. He couldn't yet bring himself to submerge his stump, though, so he held it carefully above the surface as he used sand to scrub away some of the filth.

Some time later, he reached the row boat, his hair and clothes still dripping. But it was a warm enough day. True to his word, Pan had filled the boat with supplies. Hook tossed his jacket and vest aboard before shoving off and climbing in himself. There he sat, Jolly Roger looming in the distance. She had never felt less like home.

It may have taken significantly longer for him to work up the gumption to begin rowing, except that he was beyond exhausted. When his head nodded and he almost capsized the boat startling awake, he cursed and set his jaw. The crew needed the hard-won supplies. So he grabbed the oar and assumed his ridiculous position in the bow.

This time, the men were ready well in advance. Before Hook came anywhere near the ship, a sailor was at the bottom of the rope ladder, waiting to steady the row boat and assist with tying both ends so it could be hoisted up to the rail. Good thing, too, because the oar had reopened the cuts on Hook's hand, which would have made climbing and tying knots even more of a challenge.

Both men were silent during the process, and when the boat reached the top and Hook transferred to the Jolly Roger, he noted everyone's reluctance to meet his gaze. Well, why should they? He was a filthy, repulsive thing. He had failed them all. They deserved much better in a captain.

The crew automatically began to unload the supplies, and Hook wordlessly retreated to his cabin. At least there he wouldn't have to feel their scorn; their looks of disgust when his back was turned.

He opened the door and stopped short. The cabin was _spotless_. All traces of his weeks of illness had been removed. The bloodstained shirt was gone. The windows sparkled inside and out. His bed looked immaculate. It even _smelled_ clean in there.

"Good morning, Captain!" came a cheery voice from behind him. Smee squeezed past with a plate of fish, which he set on the neatly prepared table.

"You… did this?" Hook demanded hoarsely. Smee looked startled at his dangerous expression.

"Well, yes. I thought it would be nice to… have a nice clean… did I do something wrong, sir?"

Throat tight with emotion, Hook whispered,

"Get out."

Smee nodded dejectedly and hurried back the way he'd come. Hook practically fell back against the closed door, tears streaming down his bruised cheeks. The last person to have cleaned in here so thoroughly, with the same thoughtful intention, was his Milah. Milah, whom he had loved with his whole heart, with whom he could let down his guard and just be _Killian_ \- the name seemed foreign already. With whom he'd planned to spend the rest of his days in happiness. Milah, who had taken her last agonized breath in his arms, in his last moments as a complete man; who was now suffering in whatever level of hell to which the Dark One had sent her, while Hook suffered his own hell on earth.

It was ridiculous to feel as if Smee's efforts had somehow replaced hers. That by cleaning, he had in some way removed her essence from the cabin. But that's how it felt: like losing her all over again. So he wept against the door until he lacked the strength to stand, and then he staggered to his bunk and sobbed himself to sleep.

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The sun was just beginning to set, and Smee hadn't heard one sound from his captain all day. It _was_ good he had the opportunity to sleep, if that's what he was doing. Smee kind of doubted he'd gotten much chance the previous night… but he dared not go any farther down _that_ train of thought. He _did_ feel it his obligation to ensure the man had enough to eat, though. With all the weight Hook had lost during his battle with infection, he needed to have some nourishment to renew his strength.

Smee carefully prepared a tray with some stew the cook had made from their new supplies, along with extra vegetables and a stein of rum. He even managed to transport it to the captain's quarters without spilling... much. He grimaced and knocked on the cabin door with only one eye slitted open.

"Captain?" he called softly. "Are you sleeping?"

There was no sound from inside. After a moment, Smee knocked again and then quietly tested the door. It was unlocked. He pushed it open and tiptoed inside.

The room was lit with the reddish haze of dusk. Smee could just make out Hook lying atop his blankets, facing the wall, fully clothed. Boots on and everything. Smee set the tray on the table and noted his untouched breakfast. Shaking his head, he lit a lantern, keeping the wick as short as possible.

"Leave me be," Hook mumbled, unmoving. Smee steeled himself and replied gently,

"Please, sir, you need to eat. Cook made a really nice stew for supper. I had two helpings myself. I think you'll enjoy it."

"I'm not hungry."

"Are you ill? Is the fever back?" Smee approached and cautiously felt his captain's cheek. Slightly warm, but nowhere near what it had been. Hook tensed at the contact, jaw clenching furiously. "Are you in pain? Can I help you with… anything?"

He had a feeling that Hook's self-care after the duel had consisted of roughly zero percent bandaging and one hundred percent rum. And who knew what might have happened since. Again… not going there.

Hook only shook his head, finally rolling himself onto his back so he could see his first mate better. His eyes were utterly expressionless as he said,

"I've no need of your assistance."

"At least some water, then."

Hook looked away in disinterest.

"Please, sir, we need you to get your strength back."

"What the bloody hell for?"

Smee was surprised and confused by the question. "You're… you're our captain."

Hook closed his eyes in self-loathing. "You'd all be better off if I weren't."

"How can you say that? Every single one of these men would follow you to hell and back."

"I don't deserve their loyalty."

"What?"

Hook turned to look at him then, eyes blazing. "I've trapped us here. We're entirely at the mercy of that demon Pan, and I can't even give a good showing against him in front of my men. They're right to think me weak."

Smee was shaking his head vigorously. "You can't believe that. First of all, everyone knows that fight was a sham. Not one of us could have done any better. Second, we're all extremely grateful to you for, uh…" He looked away awkwardly, and Hook scowled. "Dealing with Pan for us. We all owe you our lives."

Hook gave him a sideways glance, searching for the disgust he knew would be evident… but he couldn't see it.

"Maybe so," he said slowly. "But I made the decision to return here in the first place. It is therefore my responsibility. To take care of the crew and… face the consequences."

Smee swallowed. Then he said,

"You may have given the order, but we all willingly came along. Well, maybe not myself, to begin with, but… that's not the point. From what I've heard, sir… Milah was well-liked by all the men. They're fully supportive of your quest for vengeance. And if it takes one hundred years in Neverland…"

"Bloody hell," Hook groaned, and Smee hurried to continue.

"Not that it _will_ ; just saying that we'll be behind you the whole way."

"You've such a lovely way with words," Hook told him sarcastically, shuddering, and Smee winced.

"Captain, I…"

Hook sighed, and Smee trailed off.

The man was right. In all of the unpleasant business with Pan, Hook had forgotten the crew's loyalty to Milah. They wanted the Dark One to pay, almost as much as he did. It helped, bringing the focus back on his vengeance. There was a lot he couldn't control at present, but perhaps the reminder of his ultimate goal would make the situation slightly easier to bear. And though he'd been humiliated in front of his crew, and it would take a while before he could regain his bravado, it was a comfort to hear that they understood and appreciated his actions on their behalf.

With some of his will to live restored, Hook pushed himself up to a seated position and growled,

"That bloody demon Pan had better have a way off this bloody island so I can one day have my revenge on the _bloody_ Dark One."

Smee chuckled. "Feel better now?"

Hook narrowed his eyes. "Aye. But breathe a word of this conversation to the crew, and you'll regret it."

"It's entirely between you and me. You have my word, sir."

"Good. Now. Stew, you say?"

Smee brightened and scampered to the table. He lengthened the wick on the lantern and brought the tray to Hook's bedside. "As I said, quite good, sir. Fresh vegetables and all."

As Hook began to eat, Smee looked down at his brace, which was currently helping to support the tray on his lap. He thoughtfully said,

"You know… I've been thinking… maybe there's a way to modify that so it wouldn't slip off so easily. If I'm not overstepping my bounds, of course."

Hook nodded, and Smee continued,

"Wouldn't want the return of Captain St-"

"Careful, Smee," Hook warned. "While the stew is satisfactory, it's not so valuable as to prevent me using my hook on you."

Smee nodded seriously. "Sorry, sir. Only trying to lighten the mood."

"You're quite right, though, and the thought had crossed my mind even before yesterday's… debacle. I think between the two of us, we ought to be able to make some improvements. What do you say?"

Excited, Smee grinned. "Absolutely! That hook will be the most reliable and feared weapon on the high seas!"

"Indeed, Mister Smee. That blasted Pan may have the upper hand now, but he will come to regret having aligned himself against Captain Hook."


	10. Chapter 10

**_Chapter 10: A Hook for Every Boy_**

Emma would likely not approve of his leaving the house alone. And Smee would probably be off at work anyway. But Killian was restless, bored, and desperate to talk with his former first mate. So he left a note, just in case Emma came home to check on him, and made the ridiculously slow trek to Smee's house.

To his surprise, Smee was at home, and answered his knock.

"Cap… uh… hi," was Smee's flustered greeting. "How are you?"

"All right, mate; and you?"

"Good, yeah. I just came home for lunch."

"Sorry to interrupt. There's… something I need to speak with you about."

Smee swallowed, nodded, and then stepped back. "Come in."

Killian followed him into the living room. Smee had obviously taken the time to tidy up; maybe with the expectation of this very conversation. Or maybe he'd just disliked being caught unprepared over the weekend. Smee motioned to an armchair and took a seat in another.

Killian had decided he didn't want Smee to know about his refusal to let Emma heal his wounds, or the subsequent infection: making the man feel guilty was not a part of the plan. So he exercised great caution as he sat where Smee had indicated. He was pretty sure he managed not to show any pain, but Smee would probably have noticed the stiffness. Killian quickly gave a polite smile, saying,

"Nice place you have here, Smee."

Smee looked dubious. "Yeeeeah… It's okay, I guess. Nice and close to the harbor, at least."

"Aye, that is a plus."

"I've been meaning to get someone to fix the yard up for me, though. That's not really my thing."

Killian nodded understandingly. There was an awkward pause, during which Killian caught himself mindlessly scratching with the side of his hook at the plastic nonsense stuck to his arm. He hastily settled his brace on the armrest, then sighed. "Look, mate. I wanted to say… I'm sorry. About Casey."

Smee looked down at the mention of his son. "So you _do_ remember."

"Of course I do. After centuries in Neverland… of course I remember Casey. Bloody good man." He studied Smee's face. "Why did you never tell me?"

"We… were afraid. That you would hold it against him; use him to get to me. I don't know. It was just… easier to keep it a secret."

With a slow nod, Killian acknowledged the truth. "And when I decided to… trade him away?"

Smee let a long moment elapse. Then he swallowed and looked up, slightly defensive. "Would it have made a difference, if you had known? Really?"

It was Killian's turn to look away. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "No. As much as I would wish otherwise… I don't believe your familial relationship would have taken precedence over what that man was offering." He looked back at Smee, anguish on his features. "I'm sorry."

Smee nodded seriously.

"Have you… found any trace of him?"

With a sigh, Smee sat back in his chair. "I've tried. It hasn't been easy, between curses, and… well… being a rodent for a while…" He shrugged. "I'm almost certain he's never been in Storybrooke. That's about it."

"It's a start," Killian said gently.

"And there's something else." Smee paused, hesitating. Then he rose. "Can you keep a secret?"

Killian nodded solemnly, pushing himself to his feet and hiding the inevitable resulting grimace. Smee led him down a flight of stairs to the basement and flicked on a light. In the far corner, Killian could see a familiar tangle of green. He raised an eyebrow and edged closer. Then he gave Smee a look of disbelief.

"Where the bloody hell did you acquire a bloody magic bean plant?"

"Blackbeard," was Smee's casual response.

"What the devil… _you_ pilfered a magic bean plant… from bloody Blackbeard?"

Smee shrugged.

"How? And… when?"

Losing some of his smugness, Smee ducked his head slightly. "Before the second curse. Just after you gave him to the sharks…"

" _Thought_ I gave him to the sharks," muttered Killian.

"I wanted to make the Captain's Quarters presentable for you. He had it stashed away in there. It was just a sprout at the time, of course. I… well, I couldn't resist. I hid it with my things in the crew cabin, and when the second curse hit, the plant came with me… somehow."

Smee expected an outburst of some kind, or at least a scowl. But Killian wore a look of rueful astonishment for several moments as he studied the stalk. Then he looked to Smee more seriously.

"You've had it this whole time? The knowledge could've come in handy on multiple occasions, you know."

Smee hung his head. "Sorry."

"You could have sent me one when I was marooned on bloody Neverland, for instance."

"Don't hate me!"

Killian sighed and softened his expression. "I couldn't hate you, mate. This plant is rightfully yours to do with as you see fit."

"I thought about it, really I did. I just… I don't know how many it will produce, or… or how to tell if they're ripe. And, well…"

He trailed off. Killian finished for him.

"You were hoping to use it to find your son."

Smee nodded dejectedly.

"Fair enough."

They were both silent for a long moment. Killian recalled his last encounter with the stalk, in the Giant's Realm with David. This plant could still be immature, he supposed, but even so…

"Why is it so small?"

Smee winced. "Uh… compression field of some sort?"

Killian raised an eyebrow.

"Mr. Gold made it for me."

"Bloody hell. The bloody crocodile helped you with this 'compression field'... on the plant you stole from Blackbeard. This tale grows more fantastical by the moment. You, Smee, are a man of much more intrigue than I ever credited you with."

Smee gave him a weak smile. Killian leaned closer and noticed a couple of bean pods within reach. They certainly looked similar to the one he'd picked while on the giants' table, and had the realms not been crumbling, that bean most definitely would have produced a portal. Killian looked back at his first mate.

"So how do you harvest one?"

"What do you mean?"

Killian waved vaguely at the plant. "Will the spell not… compress your hand as well?"

Smee looked crestfallen. "I… hadn't thought of that."

Stepping back, Killian smirked teasingly. "I think I'll leave the testing of that question to you. Seeing as you have one to spare."

At his wink, Smee turned pale. "Right. Yes, of course."

He stood frozen. Killian nudged him with his shoulder. "No need to worry. You'll get used to it. Being one-handed, I mean. There are downsides, of course. And I would suggest sacrificing your non-dominant limb, but that probably goes without saying."

Still hesitating, Smee looked downright miserable. Killian took pity on him; he certainly wasn't picking up the jesting vibe on his own. Tapping a knuckle on Smee's forearm, he said,

"You know we can just call the crocodile and ask him."

Smee straightened and put on a determined scowl. "No… no, I don't want to bother him."

"I don't blame you, mate. Why risk his ire if he's having a bad day?"

"And I'd rather not remind him I have this," Smee added.

"Indeed. Although I wouldn't doubt he's got it tucked away in that conniving head of his. He has a long memory, as you well know."

Smee nodded and then scrunched his eyes closed. He raised his hand, about to plunge it into the compression field, but Killian stopped him.

"Wait. Let me." He held up his hook. "In truth, this would be more easily replaced."

Smee stepped back, unable to hide his relief. Killian carefully reached forward with the hook, having to move closer than he would like due to the restricted movement his injuries would allow. As hook and brace entered the field, they instantly shrank to become proportional to the bean plant.

"Bloody hell," he whispered. Smee looked aghast.

"How… how does it feel?"

Killian reached in farther, up to his elbow in the field. "Strange. Tingly. But not painful." He pulled back, and his arm and hook restored to their normal state. Both men shrugged at each other, Killian concealing a wince at the motion, and then Smee reached forward and picked a pod. He brought it out and opened it to reveal the bean inside.

"Well, mate," Killian began, upon seeing the apparently ripe bean. "We've got a way to retrieve Casey, if we can locate him."

"We?"

Killian nodded. "Aye. I want to help. If you'll have me."

Smee considered this for a moment. Then he smiled. "I would like that. Thank you… Killian."

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 _~Neverland: Day 39~_

Hook lay the island map on the table in his quarters. After much cajoling and _convincing,_ he had finally managed to procure one from Pan. Who could tell how accurate it was, or how detailed, but it was a start, and the pirates needed to familiarize themselves with their prison - especially now.

As he unrolled the map, his hook pierced the fragile parchment and tore through its edge. The map sprang closed, and Hook scowled at it. In his irritation, he unthinkingly allowed his left arm to drop to his side. He was immediately cursing loudly as his hook gouged a furrow in his thigh; the second in as many weeks.

Now that the pain and tenderness was beginning to subside from his wrist, he no longer had the instinct to cradle and protect the arm. And his leg was certainly paying the price. Every single pair of his trousers had some sort of hole or tear from the sharp appendage, and most of those rips had a matching one on his skin.

Still muttering curses, Hook flung the map aside and reached for the stash of bandages that had become a permanent tabletop accessory. He managed to separate one out and left it wadded on the table before lowering his pants, throwing himself onto his chair, and digging his flask from its pocket. Some rum for the wound, some for his mouth. He growled as he swallowed. A puddle of red-tinged alcohol gathered by the chair leg. He took another swig before twisting to examine his thigh. It hurt like blazes, but he could probably get by with just bandaging it. Several other marks littered the skin in various stages of healing. He was a mess.

The first bandage he gathered into a ball, which he pressed against the wound with the side of his hook. The he wrapped a second strip awkwardly around his leg, getting snagged once or twice on the hook's sharp tip. He ground his teeth in frustration.

The last straw came when he was attempting to tie off the ends. Even the simplest knots were a challenge these days; ones he used to be able to complete in his sleep. But now, before he could even finish the first twist, his hand slipped and knocked against the hook, and suddenly there was blood pouring from his palm as well.

"Blast this hook!"

He tore the bandage away and pulled his trousers up, his anger not a bit soothed by the extra time even _that_ took. The enraged pirate stormed out through the corridor and into the crew quarters, unconcerned with who woke in his wake. Stopping by Smee's bunk, he grabbed the shirt collar of his slumbering first mate.

"Mister Smee. Your assistance, if you please," he growled as he tugged the man up, leaving a smudge of blood on his shirt. Smee blinked and yawned.

"Captain? It's the middle of the night."

"Sleeping, were you? Having a good dream?" Hook replied mockingly. "What, finally getting to the good bits with a lady?"

Smee sighed and threw his legs over the edge of his bunk.

"Let's at least try not to wake the others," he whispered. Hook couldn't care less at the moment, but he released Smee's shirt and allowed his first mate to follow as quietly as he liked.

Back in the captain's quarters, Hook sulked into his chair, and Smee caught a glimpse of his bleeding leg.

"Again?"

"Yes, again. What; you think I _like_ this?"

"Of course not, sir. Sorry."

Hook helped himself to more rum, and Smee gathered the bandages strewn about the floor.

"I'm bloody useless with this thing."

Smee gave him a sympathetic look. "You just need practice. Eventually I'll bet you'll find it comes in…" He trailed off. Hook glowered.

"Handy? Quite the comedian, you are."

Smee pursed his lips and quickly finished the task at which Hook had failed so miserably. The pirate captain couldn't help envying his full complement of nimble fingers.

"Is… there something else bothering you, sir?" Smee asked carefully. "You've been… a little extra… on edge since your last meeting with Pan."

Hook drew his head back and raised his eyebrows, surprised Smee had made the connection. "Perceptive."

"Thank you, sir."

Hook sighed. "The demon is changing the terms of our agreement. He'll no longer provide our supplies; we'll need to forage our own. Which will likely mean the loss of men to the island's dangers."

Smee straightened, looking worried. "That's not fair."

"He's hardly a man of honor, mate."

"Well, he at least won't attack us, right? We have free range to explore?"

Hook shrugged. "Who can say? Even if he doesn't come at us directly, you know as well as I that he can control the beasts that haunt this place. He'll call it a game, of course."

"Not a very sporting one."

There was a beat of silence while Hook took another drink. Smee noted the blood running down his wrist and dug out another bandage. Hook set the flask aside and allowed Smee to work on his hand.

"How… how will you choose the foraging party?"

Hook snorted at the man's cowardice. "Think I should ask nicely?"

Smee winced. "I just meant…"

"Don't worry, Mister Smee. Everyone will have a turn at shore leave. Yourself included."

With a nervous smile, Smee tied off the bandage and stepped back. "Very kind of you, sir. I wouldn't want to miss _that_ opportunity."

"That's the spirit, mate," sneered Hook. "Now. You may resume your dreaming. But I'd caution you to make sure it really is a _lady_ wearing the dress."

Smee looked down and blushed. "Yes sir." He turned to go, then turned back. "You should… probably try and get some rest too, Captain. I'm sure sleep deprivation doesn't help the coordination any."

"The thought never crossed my mind," Hook snapped sarcastically. "Thank goodness I have my first mate to bring these things to my attention."

Sighing, Smee turned back to the exit. "Goodnight, sir."

Hook glared at the door, leg and hand burning. Bloody hook. Bloody Pan. _Bloody Crocodile._

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 **AN: I'm _so_ confused about portals. Who has what hat/door/wand, or are they all broken; does anyone have magic beans anymore; do you still need a compass and are the "walls" between realms even open right now? Too much fanfiction reading to keep it straight :) So for the sake of this story, Smee's magic bean plant is the only way to cross realms. Also, the Neverland flashbacks started off as a way to show Hook's bad treatment of Smee and Smee's loyalty despite it, but they also became a way for me to work through some questions/ideas I had about that time period. Such as: Hook learning to keep his elbow bent to prevent injuring himself with the hook, how/why Neverland ended up in eternal night, an in-universe reason for the wince in "Revenge is Gonna be Mine," and how they escaped Neverland once and for all. Hopefully they're interesting ideas and I didn't overlook any canon detail that contradicts them!**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Chapter 11: Roguery, Larceny, and Arsony_**

It was well past dinner time, and Emma was still at work. Killian had spent the whole day fruitlessly searching for any clue of Casey's whereabouts. Then, with his back feeling slightly better after a couple days of antibiotic treatments, Killian had been able to prepare the evening meal, using only ingredients that did not require reaching or bending. But Emma messaged him to start without her. Reluctant, but knowing it was coming up on his infusion time and wanting to take the advice of having eaten first to ward off side effects, he eventually gave in. He even choked down some of that yogurt stuff that Emma claimed was supposed to be taken with antibiotics.

At close to 8:00, there was a knock at the door. Killian hobbled over and was surprised to find David, wearing a teasing smile.

"Hey there, gimp. We've missed you at the sheriff station."

"So I've heard. 'Dad.' Emma doesn't believe me when I tell her I'm fully capable of at least assisting with the paperwork."

"The way I hear it, you can hardly use the bathroom yourself."

"An exaggeration," Killian scoffed, although it most certainly _was_ a challenge. "She's just trying to get you on her side against me."

David shrugged. "Well it _does_ sound like you're being stubborn and unreasonable."

"Unrea… I thought I'd be able to count on a bit of support from my new father-in-law. You're the one who always had no trouble reminding me of my less-than-honorable past."

Smiling gently, David replied,

"Yeah; the key word being 'past.' You've done more than enough to atone for all of that."

"Maybe in _your_ eyes, mate." There was a pause, then Killian sighed and changed the subject. "Anyway, what are you doing here? And what's keeping Emma?"

"She's still tied up with work. She sent me to drive you to the hospital."

Killian rolled his eyes. "Did she?"

"Yep. I know I'm not nearly as pretty, but I'm a good hand-holder. I should be able to fill in for her this once."

Killian groaned softly and then retrieved his jacket from the wardrobe handle. "If you insist. But holding hands is out of the question."

David chuckled as Killian shut the door behind them. "Fine. I had to at least offer."

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 _~Enchanted Forest: Neverland Day 213~_

Hook tossed his sack of plunder onto the deck with a flourish, adding to the steadily-increasing pile of loot. In truth, his contribution was mostly books and scrolls; anything that appeared to contain even the slightest mention of the Dark One. But he'd thrown in a few weapons and the like, just to excite his crew. They responded with a rousing cheer, all in various states of inebriation, some with soot or blood stains on their clothing. Hook himself was splattered with it; his namesake coated.

"That's more like it, eh mates?"

The men cheered again, and Hook allowed himself a dark smile. Attacking villages had never been his intent when he'd turned pirate; he preferred ships loyal to his former king. Those men knew and accepted the risks of their profession, and were thus completely acceptable as targets. Village folk were generally innocents, and frequently struggled to scrape out a miserable existence. It was hardly good form to attack them. And yet… life itself didn't adhere to good form, as Hook well knew. If Pan wanted them to raid villages on the coast of the Enchanted Forest, or wherever else, then that's what they would do. Good form be damned. Besides… ending their pathetic lives could be viewed as a favor, in a way. Hook wasn't going to lose sleep over it. Especially not when there were plenty of other reasons for _that_.

Smee furtively added a single silver stein to the treasure, and Hook sneered.

"Been visiting the tavern, have we? I hope you got your fill of the wenches before we torched the place."

"I… was mostly hoping for a bit of a drink, sir. No offense to your rum, but I thought a change would be nice."

"Who else is willing to wager that Mister Smee settled his tab on his way out?"

The men sniggered and rolled their eyes mockingly. Hook snagged Smee's collar with his blood-stained hook and dragged him closer. Throwing his arm over his first mate's shoulders, he said,

"Here's how it works after a pillaging. We divide the spoils equally, even if one man is slightly less… productive than the rest." He eyed Smee's contribution disdainfully. "As our newest addition, I'm allowing you first pick."

"Oh, Captain; I don't need…"

"Them's the rules, mate. In fact, I may have the perfect prize for you."

Hook shoved Smee aside and bent to rummage inside his own pack. He pulled out a glinting dagger followed by its sheath. The blade had an unusual wavy shape, and seemed in good condition despite its apparent age. Hook stood and held the handle toward the other man. Smee backed away timidly.

"Please, sir, I don't want…"

"Smee," barked Hook. "You will take this, and you will keep it on your person henceforth. I'll not have my first mate going about his duties unarmed. Neither will he cower in the tavern when there's raiding to be done. Is that clear?"

Smee took the dagger, eyes downcast. "Yes, Captain."

Hook tossed the sheath at him, then turned to the rest of the crew. "Have at it, lads."

The captain watched with disinterest as they divvied up the booty. He knew they would leave the books for him, which was all he had an interest in anyway. At long last, he would be able to resume his hunt for ways to kill the Dark One. Their long months in Neverland… his reluctant submission to Pan's devilry… it really did have a purpose after all. The boy finally trusted him to do his dirty work outside of the island's boundaries… well, _trust_ wasn't quite the right word, as Hook had no control over where and when the Jolly Roger would depart and return to that cursed land. But so long as he fulfilled Pan's missions, he could do as he pleased until the demon recalled them. And it gave his crew a much-needed morale boost as well.

Smee also watched the proceedings, Hook noted, but declined to pick out any additional treasures for himself. He looked uncomfortable with the dagger at his belt, and Hook resolved to ensure he could at least put up a token defense if necessary. His crew was already down at least half a dozen men since their arrival in Neverland; no sense in anyone being an easy target for lack of training.

Hook's gaze strayed to the smoldering remains of the village, and his thoughts turned inevitably to Milah. He pushed aside the guilt of her imaginary disapproval and focused instead on a niggling idea he'd had since arriving in the realm. They were many leagues from _that_ village; it was doubtful Pan would allow them to stay long enough to reach it. But one day… one day he'd return and raze the place to the ground. It mattered not that the inhabitants had no responsibility for what had happened. He wanted it off the map.

Of course, there was the small possibility that the Crocodile lay in wait there. But Hook doubted it. The man was power-hungry; it was highly unlikely he'd settle for a port town of little value or import.

"That'll be all, mates," Hook dismissed the men as he scooped up his pack and made for his cabin. "We set sail at first light."

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 **AN: This is the only thing that makes sense to me regarding their centuries in Neverland. We know Hook learned of the Dark One's dagger from Baelfire fairly early on, and once they started traveling to other realms, doing Pan's errands, there had to be a reason why they kept going back for so long (especially if Hook were being forced to do things with Pan that he didn't want to do.) My explanation is that they had no choice; that Pan could use his magic to move the Jolly Roger to whatever realm he wanted, and pull them back whenever he felt like it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Chapter 12: A Long Road to Travel_**

Friday evening rolled around, and Killian and Emma had just settled down for a simple dinner when they heard a knock at the door. Emma jumped up to answer.

"Smee?" came her startled exclamation. Killian pushed himself to his feet with a wince.

"Sheriff," Smee said politely. "Is your husband at home, by any chance?"

Emma opened the door wider to allow Smee to see inside. "Come in."

"Evening, Smee," Killian greeted from his stance by the table. "What brings you our way?"

Smee took a step inside. "Hi. Uh… well, I was wondering if you might have… found anything yet? I know you've probably been busy this week, and maybe I should have come tomorrow or something… Oh. And I've interrupted your meal. I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right, mate." Killian glanced at Emma, then offered, "Would you care to join us? Henry's made plans with a friend so his portion is unclaimed."

Flustered, Smee looked between the two. "I… no, I couldn't. I couldn't intrude."

Emma gave him a reassuring grin. "You're more than welcome. I've been meaning to ask you over, to see if you had any embarrassing stories to share about Killian."

Killian scowled, playing along. "That's hardly fair, love."

"Is that an admission of guilt?" she teased.

"Not at all, Swan. No, you've presented him with a bit of a dilemma: remain true to his loyal nature, or obey the request of an authority figure with the power to send him to the brig should he disobey."

She rolled her eyes. "That would be an abuse of my position."

"I'm glad to hear that," Smee interjected timidly. Looking at Killian, he gave a crooked smile. "Your secrets are safe with me, Captain."

"Good man!" Killian grinned. "You see, Swan: Smee's as true as they come."

Emma nodded in apparent concession. But as she closed the door behind Smee, she mouthed,

"We'll talk later."

Killian waved Smee over and gingerly poured him a glass of wine. "Wine, mate? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

"That's fine," Smee mumbled before coming to stand meekly beside a chair. Emma magicked a place setting for him. The trio sat- Killian much more carefully than the other two- and began to partake in the meal. Smee immediately noticed Killian's stiffness.

"Is everything okay, Cap… Killian?"

Killian eyed him sideways, evasive. "Don't know what you're on about."

"You just seem… uncomfortable. If you'll pardon me for bringing it up." He turned to Emma and explained apologetically. "He isn't always quick to share when something's bothering him. I've learned to recognize the signs."

Emma grinned. "I've noticed that about him. You got any tips? You have more practice than me."

"Well, for one thing..." Smee began.

"All that nonsense about loyalty? I take it back," Killian interrupted good-naturedly. But then a less-careful movement sent a spike of pain through him, and he winced. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Smee's familiar concern, and he sighed.

"No cause for alarm," he assured with a grimacing smile. Smee's face fell.

"It's your back, isn't it?" He set aside his fork and looked down in shame. "I thought you had Emma take care of it."

"Not this time, mate," Killian admitted. He didn't really want to get into all of the reasons why, so he added, "I have the highly-esteemed staff of Storybrooke General looking after me, and I'm sure they're quite impressed with your suturing ability."

Smee looked proud for a moment, then winced. "That was only supposed to be temporary, though. If I'd known it was for longer-term, I might have…"

"Smee, you did a fine job. Rest assured, those charlatans at the hospital could not have done better if they tried." His voice grew gentle. "And it was never my intention to inspire feelings of remorse in you. Hence the secrecy. These stripes have taken on an altogether different meaning, quite apart from my reconciliation with you."

Smee glanced at Emma, who shrugged an apology.

"Not even going to _try_ to explain it," she told him.

"Shall we instead discuss the true purpose of your visit?" Killian suggested. Smee seemed to force the guilt from his mind, and he nodded.

"I haven't found much this week, and I was hoping maybe you did."

Killian shook his head sadly. "Alas, I was only able to come to the same conclusion that you had previously: it appears neither Casey nor the wizard have ever been to this realm."

Smee sipped his wine, glum. "Which would mean he's well into his fifties by now. _If_ he's even…"

He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. With a sigh, he drained his glass. "It's hopeless, isn't it? Who knows how many beans that wizard had; they could be in _any_ realm. And _I_ don't have an unlimited supply of beans."

Killian looked to Emma. "Any ideas, love?"

"Well, there's always the locator spell. Wouldn't hurt to try it here, to see if your research missed something."

"Assuming you have a possession of Casey's," Killian added at Smee, who nodded quietly.

A thought struck Killian then, and he began musing out loud. "During the Black Fairy's curse, when we were sent to the Enchanted Forest, the Evil Queen had this… sort of top hat thing which contained passages to all realms simultaneously. If we were to utilize said hat, would the locator spell have the ability to point out in which particular realm we might find Casey?"

Emma thought about it for a moment. "I'm… not sure. When you used it on Eric's cloak, it wasn't able to cross realms. But maybe it would travel to the boundary, at least."

"Aye, and then we wouldn't even need to use a bean to create another portal if he isn't in the Enchanted Forest. Although I seem to recall something about a requirement for equal numbers in both directions of travel. But we can sort out the details later, if necessary."

"That's assuming the Evil Queen still has the hat and would be willing to help us," Smee pointed out.

"Not to worry, mate; she's more like the Surly-but-Secretly-Harmless Queen now."

Emma stood and began clearing away the remnants of the meal. "It's a good start anyway. Tomorrow we can try and rule out Storybrooke, and see if Regina thinks your hat idea would work. Smee, more wine?"

"No thank you, Sheriff. Although I appreciate your hospitality."

"Anytime. And normally I wouldn't be rushing you, but we need to leave shortly for Killian's treatment."

Killian made a face. "Of all the ways to spend a summer's eve…"

" _You're_ the one insisting on the hard way," she reminded him, and he replied with a fake grin.

"Too true, Swan."

"Treatment?" Smee asked. "For your back?"

"Aye. Some magical concoction or other to combat infection. Bloody nuisance it is." He kept his tone light, ending with a wink to ensure his first mate would know he was teasing. Smee still looked rueful, though.

"Sorry." He got to his feet, and before Killian could reiterate the plea for him not to feel bad, he continued, "Thanks again for dinner. I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"I look forward to it," Killian confirmed with a nod.

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Early the next morning - _way_ too early for a Saturday- Emma sprinkled the potion over the woolen scarf Smee had brought over.

"His mother made it. Gave it to him when he joined the navy. He didn't have much use for it in Neverland, and that last trip to the Enchanted Forest was in summertime, so it was still tucked with his other things aboard the Jolly Roger."

Smee looked to be holding back tears, and Killian clenched his jaw as he nodded.

The scarf twitched lazily for a moment, as if sniffing the air, then wilted back into an inert pile. As expected: no trace of Casey in Storybrooke. Emma gave Smee a look of sympathy as he sniffed and gathered the fabric into a neat roll.

"What did the mayor say about the hat?" Smee asked sadly.

Carefully, Emma replied,

"She's not sure… but thinks there's no harm in trying. And I probably have enough locator spell to find a whole army."

"And you just… pour it on? Does it need magic to activate, or could I do it?"

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance.

"I think anyone can use it."

"Smee? What are you scheming up, mate?"

Smee looked shifty for a moment. "I was just… well, the thing is…" Then he sighed. "I had a nightmare last night, about Casey, needing my help and me arriving too late to save him, and… I'm just not sure how much longer I can wait. So I was thinking maybe I would go alone."

"I understand your urgency, but…"

"I know you wanted to come with me, and I appreciate the offer; I really do. But I'm not sure I can wait for you to heal and be done with your treatments, and I couldn't ask either of you to disrupt your schedules anyway. I'll be fine."

"Negotiating with the Evil Queen?"

Nervously, Smee nodded.

"Travelling through portals to unknown realms? Potentially facing the bloody wizard? Alone, mate?"

Smee gulped.

"We can take some time off," Emma assured him. "No one would mind. But you're right about Killian's wounds. Although, there _is_ a simple solution…"

Killian smiled patiently at the hint, shaking his head. "Not happening, Swan. But I can assure you, it wouldn't be a hindrance. It's been nearly a week; I'm regaining some flexibility. And I'm sure there must be alternatives to Whale's bloody drugs." Killian turned to Smee. "You'll be wanting back-up, mate. Please don't insist on a solo journey."

Smee chewed his lip and looked at Emma for her reaction. She sighed.

"I can call Dr. Whale and see what he thinks. Killian's right: you shouldn't go alone. It _would_ be better to wait a week or two…"

Smee shook his head vehemently. "I _can't_. I'm sorry."

"Well, then, maybe we should think of who might be able to go instead. My dad is a possibility; he'd probably be up for a visit to the Enchanted Forest…"

"Swan. Are you suggesting deserting me in favor of Prince Charming?"

"Only when you're injured and he's not."

"That's rubbish. You'd split up two families. And I have a feeling Dave's good-night kisses would be a very poor substitute for my own."

Emma rolled her eyes.

"Joking aside, there would be the small matter of leaving the sheriff's station manned only by a deputy who is admittedly limited in capacity, which leaves the town vulnerable to all manner of crime."

"That's true," Smee spoke up. "I couldn't ask that. Honestly, if it were just the three of us, or even just me and the captain, I'd be happy. I can't ask it of anyone else."

Emma looked about to voice more objections, so Killian took her hand in his.

"I have to do this, love, just as much as I have to endure these wounds. Casey's predicament is entirely down to my heartless actions. Whatever small part I can play in his rescue… it's a responsibility I must accept."

With a resigned sigh, Emma nodded, and Killian turned back to Smee.

"So what do you say, mate? Will you allow us some time to prepare so we might accompany you?"

"I… think I can manage that. A day, maybe. But I can't promise not to leave you behind if you aren't ready by tomorrow morning. I just… I need to see him. I need him _safe_."

Killian inclined his head seriously. "Fair enough, Smee. There's nothing I'd like more, as well."

As Smee took his leave, Emma was already mentally listing the preparations they'd need to make before they set out on their expedition. Killian drew her close and kissed her cheek.

"I thank you, love. I know you aren't thrilled at the prospect…"

"What, of taking on a potentially dangerous quest with my already-injured husband and his pirate friend? What's to worry me about that?"

"Your patience with me is admirable."

Emma kissed him back and then added,

"We'd better be nearing the end of your list of 'Things To Do Before I Can Feel Good About Myself.' Otherwise, I'm _definitely_ consulting with Archie, whether you like it or not."

Killian only grinned at her. She pulled away.

"I'll go call Whale. You… get started packing, I guess. At the rate you're able to move these days, that could take you until Smee's deadline."


	13. Chapter 13

**_Chapter 13: The Scourge of the Sea_**

 _~Enchanted Forest: Neverland Day 289~_

Hook finally got his chance, without any sort of warning. Pan had stopped telling him ahead of time before sending the Jolly Roger on a voyage, unless there was a specific item he was after. So it was a clueless Hook and crew who were awakened by the now-familiar lurch of their vessel being flung between realms.

Among the first to stagger on deck, Hook almost caused a collision, so fast did he halt at the top step. The pre-dawn glow was just enough for instant recognition to set in. They rode at anchor… _there_. In the exact spot. Hook had long suspected Pan could see into his memories; now he had confirmation. Those hills, the blasted beauty of that shoreline, each rustic building lining the harbor. All the same, all hated with a desperate passion… all taunting him with signs of continued life.

His glower could almost strip the mortar from between the bricks as he choked out,

"Stir your stumps, lads. Not one stone atop another by the time this morning is out!"

The men, too, realized their location, and determined mutterings arose as they scurried to arm themselves. Smee appeared at Hook's side, noting his fist and jaw competing for which could clench tighter.

"Captain, it's nearly dawn. People will be about soon. Oughtn't we wait…"

"Let them come," Hook hissed. "My hook is thirsting for blood."

He looked down at Smee's hand trembling on the hilt of his dagger. With a ferocious glint in his eye, he added,

"I expect old Johnny there to get his overdue taste as well."

Despite his anxiety, Smee blushed and removed his hand from the dagger. "Wh-who, sir?"

Hook turned to face him with a sneer. "Johnny Corkscrew, isn't it?"

"Where did you hear that, Captain?"

"You should know by now that there are no secrets aboard this vessel."

Smee looked embarrassed. Stepping forward, Hook skillfully drew out the dagger and had it at Smee's throat in an instant. His gaze trailed the crooked blade and then made its way to Smee's startled face.

"It's a fitting name for the blade, especially if you be sure to get it in there and _really_ wiggle it about."

Hook demonstrated with an invisible foe, and Smee swallowed, sickened. Hook returned the dagger to its sheath and said,

"Today is a fine day for its initiation. The destruction of this place will be the first step toward my ultimate vengeance. And your 'Johnny Corkscrew' _will_ play a part. Understood?"

Smee nodded miserably. Hook drew his own cutlass and shoved Smee toward the now-ready gangplank. Hook followed close behind.

"Good. Because you and I, mate… we're going to kick things off. The others will follow in their own time."

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It wasn't long before Hook began to regret rushing the attack. It had started off easily enough, with only a few fishermen and other early risers to dispatch without a struggle. But soon, battle cries and the ring of steel alerted those still abed to the attack, and quickly the villagers were up in arms, ready to repel the pirates' impatiently uncoordinated advance. Hook lost sight of Smee almost immediately. But his own fury at each familiar sight was more than enough to help him hold his own.

He soon found himself in the same blasted alleyway where the Dark One had revealed himself, and it seemed a fitting place to stop and make a stand. He slew many villagers there before an archer appeared on the very archway from which the Crocodile had thrown down his taunts, and Hook had to duck into an open door to take cover.

The building's inhabitants lay dead on the floorboards. Hook saw the other entrance open wide, door hanging off its hinges. With the point of his cutlass, he scattered the glowing embers from the fireplace until the clothes on one of the corpses went up in flames. Then he overturned a table nearby; probably enough to eventually set the whole dwelling ablaze. When that was done, he cautiously exited through the second doorway.

He heard shouts of triumph as his crew discovered some store of valuables or another. His own focus was to bring about as much death and destruction as he could. So he marched down street after street, keeping a weather eye out for more projectiles, running hook and cutlass alike through any villager who dared showed themselves. In his imagination, each wore the cringing, tearful face of Milah's former husband, the cowardly version, begging to have his wife back. Each time, he imagined the Crocodile's death; his scream of agony; the surge of triumph he'd feel when he at last defeated his foe.

Hook was in such a murderous rampage that he didn't notice he'd reached the inland edge of the village until no more bodies impaled themselves on his blade. Panting, covered in blood- his own and others' alike- he turned to see the smoke billowing, and hear the screams and cries for mercy. And it wasn't enough. The place was still standing; still _alive_. He needed to _decimate_ it. So he set a course for the quietest and most-untouched sector of the village, throwing himself furiously back into the fray.

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Smee coughed violently as he shoved another stack of books into his sack. The smoke was getting thicker; his eyes watered and burned, his airway rebelled. He definitely needed to get back to the ship, before he trapped himself. With effort, he slung his spoils over a shoulder and staggered to the doorway, hoping the contribution would make up for his abandonment of Captain Hook.

Smee was no fighter. Hook had spent hours trying to teach him the basics of swordplay, but both men inevitably came away frustrated at his lack of progress. Besides that, well… Smee didn't _want_ to kill people. And he didn't see why Hook should be so adamant he participate in the slaughter. So he had decided to focus instead on returning with Dark One research. Maybe that would distract his captain from the distinct lack of blood on Smee's blade and person.

The two pirates standing guard nodded at him as he approached the gangplank. Smee boarded the ship and dumped his sack in the usual spot for loot. No one else had returned yet. It was now an hour or so past dawn, although the morning sun could hardly penetrate the thick smoke rising from the village.

As much as Smee would prefer to stay on board and await the crew's return, he knew the captain would probably flog him for his cowardice. So he grabbed another sack and headed back into the chaos. Might as well see what other treasures he could find.

On his fourth trip back up the gangplank, Smee was relieved to see a few other men had returned. But he didn't want the captain to see him lounging on board like the others, so he dropped his plunder and set off yet again.

When he came back a fifth time, more pirates were gathered on deck, one of them with a nasty laceration to the shoulder. As Smee had officially become the ship's untrained-yet-most-experienced healer, he took it as his cue that it would now be safe to stay. He had an excuse, after all.

As he got to work on the wound, several more men trickled aboard, flushed with victory and self-congratulations. Not long afterward, someone caught sight of Hook, and there was an adrenaline-fueled cheer. Smee focused on his task, hoping that immersing himself in his duties would cause the captain to overlook his clean appearance.

There was a loud thump as Hook shoved a sniveling captive down the steps and onto the deck. The men jeered the wretched being. Smee glanced up furtively and met the wild gaze of his captain. Hook sauntered closer, drunk on rage and revenge, a terrifying grin adorning his blood-caked features. The injured pirate snapped to attention under Smee's hands, and Hook appraised the wound.

"All right there, sailor?"

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Hook nodded and used his namesake to guide the man's hand up to where Smee held a rag beneath the cut.

"A moment of your time, Mister Smee."

"I just need to finish…"

"This won't take long. Mullins can wait, can't you, mate?"

The injured pirate nodded and took the rag from Smee, holding it over his own wound. Smee swallowed when the hook snagged his shirt sleeve.

"W-what can I do for you, sir?" asked Smee as Hook turned and dragged him toward the captive.

"I saved one for you, mate. It was such a pity your urgent business took you from my side. I didn't want you to miss out on _all_ the fun."

The wounded villager cowered before the pair, sobbing. Smee thought he recognized the man from the weeks he'd spent in the village before first encountering the Jolly Roger.

"Th-thank you, sir. Very thoughtful of you. So… he's mine? To do with as I see fit?"

"All yours, Mister Smee."

"I can let him go, then."

"Not an option." Hook's gaze was fierce, and Smee shrank back. "Here are your choices: you can do as I ordered, and sink your dagger in this man's chest. Or...the blade finds a permanent home in your heart and I appoint myself a new first mate."

A murmur arose from those gathered around, and Smee knew they were wagering among themselves on the outcome. His throat constricted and he felt the prickle of tears behind his eyes.

"Please, Captain… please don't make me do this."

"Here's my dilemma," Hook began darkly. "I need to be able to trust all of my men. To know that they would be willing to do what must be done; to take a life, or give their own if necessary. That they can follow orders even if they don't understand or agree. And you…you seem determined to prove the opposite is true."

"That's not my intent at all! You can trust me; of course you can!"

"And yet you abandoned me today!" Hook snapped. "I can't have a first mate who runs from every fight because he lacks the stomach for battle! So unless you demonstrate a willingness to toughen up… then I have no use for you aboard this ship."

The tears spilled over now, and Smee didn't even try to contain them. Hook waited impassively.

"I… don't know if I can…" Smee murmured hoarsely.

"Of course you can," Hook sneered. "Pointy end goes in the other guy."

Smee fumbled for the dagger and almost dropped it as he unsheathed it. He couldn't look at the blade, or at the doomed man at his feet. Theoretically, the man was dead either way. Hook had no reason to release him, even if Smee refused to kill him. And the longer Smee delayed, the more the man suffered. He should just get it over with. Slay the man right then and there. Shove the blade in… stop his heart… cut short his life. Get his blood on his hands, on his blade, on his clothes, on the deck. Do it. Do it. Just do it. _Do it, dammit!_

Tremors wracked his arms as he gripped the dagger with both hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispered at the man.

And then he did it.

And immediately vomited all over the deck.

Hook turned to the closest of the onlookers, ignoring Smee's retching. "Ready the starboard cannon. Once all the men are accounted for… turn this place to dust."


	14. Chapter 14

**_Chapter 14: O My Mysterious Lady_**

Thea was busy assisting other patients when Killian and Emma arrived that evening. So they headed to his accustomed cot and Emma helped him get settled, then sat in the chair next to him.

"I'm sorry for being so negative about all of this," she told him softly. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"I know it's been a trying time for you, love. I'm sorry for causing you distress."

She stroked his hair with her free hand. "I _do_ appreciate what you're trying to do. It is… _noble_ , in a twisted sort of way."

"Well, I appreciate your patience as I work to redeem me honor as a man."

She gave a slight frown at the familiar phrase. "Is that… are you _quoting_ at me right now?"

His crooked smile was sly. "If one can ignore the ridiculous subject matter, the songs are quite catchy."

"I never thought you would approve of one single thing about any of our versions of Peter Pan."

"If only reality were a bit closer to your stories."

"What, the girl Peter?"

"Less the gender, although that would have made things interesting."

At her teasingly offended look, he added,

"No, I was referring to her beneficence and whimsy; things the real demon _clearly_ lacked."

"So… Mary Martin or Cathy Rigby?"

"I'm not going to choose a bloody favorite, Swan. It's still Pan we're discussing."

"Cyril Richards, or… that other guy?"

He smirked. "Richards. No question."

If she was surprised at his preference, she didn't get a chance to show it before Thea approached.

"Good evening Killian… Emma…" she greeted before hastily beginning the process of checking his vitals.

"Lady Thea," Killian replied politely. Emma just nodded her greeting.

"I hear you're thinking of taking a journey?" Thea asked.

"It's already decided, milady," Killian corrected her, before Emma contradicted him.

" _If_ you've made enough progress to stop the IV meds."

"Swan…" Killian began, but Thea held up a hand.

"I did hear from Dr. Whale, and he's not all that encouraged by your latest bloodwork. The infection isn't responding as well as we'd like, so he thinks switching to oral meds would be a bad idea at this point."

Killian let out a frustrated sigh, about to curse Whale and his _ideas_.

"Neverland germs not as affected by our medicine, huh?" Emma offered snidely. Thea continued on, ignoring the interruption.

"There is one drug that shows promise, based on your cultures, although it's still slower than normal to be effective. It can be given intramuscularly, so it _would_ be more portable than the IV version. But that means someone would have to be trained to administer it for you, if you absolutely insist on going."

"I do." His tone left no room for argument. Thea nodded, while Emma just sighed.

"Guess that means I get to be the one to do it, then." She didn't look at all confident. Thea nodded again and went to collect some supplies. Emma looked down into Killian's eyes.

"You know, it would be so easy for me to heal you. You're going to help Smee when you don't have to. Let _that_ be your penance."

He shook his head stubbornly.

"You'd probably be more helpful to him if you're not injured," she pointed out.

"Let's be honest, love. When you're around, I'm hardly more than moral support anyway."

"That's not true," she said gently. Although… frequently it was. Her magic tended to be a lot more effective against villains than old-fashioned fencing skills, however deftly he wielded them.

"Again, I appreciate the offer. And again, the answer is no."

She shook her head as Thea returned with two filled syringes and other supplies. Emma blanched at the long needles as Thea explained,

"I divided this first dose into two, so you can watch the first and then try it yourself."

As she got everything situated, the nurse remarked,

"I have to admit, it's a little unusual to be prescribed a week's worth of doses. Usually it's just one, or maybe two at most. I guess Dr. Whale wants to be extra careful, since we won't be able to monitor you anymore."

"Bloody Whale," grumbled Killian under his breath. Thea gave Emma a pair of gloves and then drew the curtain around the trio.

"Sorry, Killian," she began sympathetically. "It needs to be given into a large muscle, which unfortunately means the buttocks."

"Of course it does," Killian muttered in annoyance. That damn physician was doing this intentionally, he was sure of it; to intimidate and humiliate him into staying.

"You can still change your mind," Emma told him hopefully. He replied with a determined scowl.

"Not bloody likely. Whale can't scare me with his damn needles."

Emma indicated the syringes lying within view. "Even ones as long as those?"

He scoffed. "I've had worse insect bites."

"They need to be long to get past the layer of fat so the drug gets into the muscle," Thea explained soothingly.

"Do you hear that, love? This bully of a lass is calling me fat."

He winked at Thea, trying to put Emma more at ease. His Swan didn't appear at all happy with the task before her.

"Are you able to roll onto your belly, Killian?" Thea asked. He complied painfully. Then she added,

"Everyone has fat back there, you know. Even top athletes."

"And devilishly handsome pirates," he added. Thea lowered the waistband of his pants and underwear fractionally; not nearly as much as he'd expected. He quirked an eyebrow at Emma, thinking the exposure would fuel her desires, but she still looked pale and serious.

"You can do this, Emma," he encouraged her gently. Her answering smile seemed automatic and distracted.

Killian tried to listen and absorb Thea's instructions, just in case Emma had questions later. To be honest, it was a little surprising that Emma seemed so apprehensive. Considering she'd once had to run him through with Excalibur, this should be nothing in comparison. Although maybe that was exactly the issue? Was it somehow dredging up all of those emotions in her? Killian resolved to talk with her about it when they were alone.

The needle stung a bit, but far worse was the cramping ache as the contents of the syringe invaded the muscle. Killian decided he definitely preferred the IV route, even with as much of an annoyance as the catheter had been over the past few days. But the pain was nothing he couldn't live with, especially compared to that which still wracked his back with every movement. Certainly not enough to cause a change in plan.

At Thea's instruction, Emma picked up the second syringe, and Killian gave her another encouraging smile before she disappeared from view. Thea talked her through the process again, and soon, Killian had a matching sore spot on the other side.

"You did fine," Thea told her. "Do you have any questions?"

Emma didn't. One of them pulled his waistband back into normal position, and Killian began the slow and painful process of sitting up. He caught Emma's eye and she smiled weakly. Through a grimace, Killian said,

"Not so bad, right, love?"

"If you say so." She took his hand and helped him to slowly sit. His back blazed for several moments, and she ran her fingers through his hair as he breathed through the pain. Thea took his arm and said,

"I'll just get this catheter out and then you're free to go."

Within moments she had swapped the plastic tubing for a cotton ball and fresh self-adhesive bandaging, which she instructed them to leave in place for at least an hour. Then she gave Emma a pamphlet about IM injections and said,

"The prescription is for one shot every twenty-four hours for seven days. Normally we'd tell you to come back in if the infection seems to be worsening, but… I suppose if that's the case you'll have to try and find an alternative wherever you end up going."

Emma looked skeptical, but not frightened. She probably was thinking that if it came to that, she'd just force her healing on him, and Killian found he couldn't see himself denying her that. Hopefully the drug would take care of it without that becoming necessary.

"If you'll just head down to the pharmacy, they should have all your supplies ready to go."

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They left the pharmacy loaded down with syringes, a sharps container, plenty of alcohol pads, the vial of antibiotic, and instructions that were basically a repeat of Thea's demonstration. The supplies were all tucked into a plastic bag, which Killian gently pulled from Emma's grasp and dangled from his hook. He took his wife's hand as they made for the exit.

"Are you all right, love? You seem distressed about this business."

"If I wanted to give people shots, I'd have gone to nursing school," she grumbled in response.

"Where you would have excelled."

"Yeah, not so much. My bedside manner would suck."

Graciously choosing to ignore the opportunity for a quip about her manners _in_ the bed, Killian squeezed her hand.

"What truly bothers you about the procedure? It's hardly worth fretting over."

She sighed. "Just the thought of causing you pain, I guess. Even just a little. Even if you're _technically_ bringing it on yourself. It's hard, you know? If our positions were reversed, and you had to be the one to stick _me_ , don't you think you'd find it difficult?"

"Aye, I imagine so, if I allowed myself to think of it in those terms. So I would discipline my mind to forget the minor pain I may be causing and instead focus on the assistance I'd be providing to my beloved."

"That simple, huh?"

He ran his thumb along her fingers. "You've been able to tend my injuries with little difficulty, and I dare say that process is longer and more painful for me."

"That's a little different. Not _easy_ , but less… I don't know, invasive?" She sighed again. "I'm not saying it's logical."

Killian smiled gently at her. "That's quite all right, Swan. Your care and devotion astounds me daily, and I am indebted to you for your willingness to travel outside your realm of comfort on my behalf."

"And Smee's."

"And Smee's, of course. And Casey, despite having never made his acquaintance." He brought their interlocked hands up to his face and planted a kiss on her knuckles. "If it helps, you can pretend my backside is a foe and the needle your sword."

She let out a startled snort of amusement. "What?"

"Aye. Picture the face of a villain we've defeated, and perhaps you'll find the stabbing to be more enjoyable."

"Take my aggression out on your ass?"

"Gently, of course."

His smirk and the absurdity of the idea were enough to draw out Emma's laughter, and suddenly, the prospect seemed a bit less intimidating. It was her turn to squeeze his hand.

"I may just have to give that a try."

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 **AN: I grew up with the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan, even over the Disney version. She's the definitive Peter for me, and it sometimes feels a little bit like betrayal to have this dark, twisted Pan in my head. But then I feel disloyal to Killian for liking Mary Martin! Fandom is tough sometimes. :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Chapter 15: Hate Unabating_**

 _~Neverland: Year 10+~_

Neverland had gone dark. And Hook was to blame.

Well, technically it was Pan's doing. But all in response to a small defiance on Hook's part.

Upon the first anniversary of Milah's death, Hook had spent the entire day locked in his cabin. He drank himself to unconsciousness. Despite very clear instructions regarding how he was to have spent the evening - and in whose company.

Pan knew the significance of the date. Of _course_ he knew. But he didn't bother to bring it up in his "invitation," and Hook didn't mention it either. Instead, the pirate made himself incapable of meeting the obligation; he simply couldn't care about the repercussions.

He probably should have, though.

Pan's reaction was to magically snatch the captain from his bunk, clear the rum from his system, and then beat him to within an inch of his life.

Hook found that he preferred the physical pain to the emotional anguish of the date.

So that became the annual tradition. For the first decade of his time in Neverland, each anniversary meant Hook disobeyed Pan's order to present himself - and the boy never forgot the date either. Thus, the following day each year, Smee and the crew would find their captain bleeding on the beach- sometimes unconscious but more often merely dazed- and know he would be out of commission for at least the next week.

It was almost a game between the foes. Pan took pleasure in creating novel methods of punishment; Hook took solace the rest of the year in that one act of defiance, the _one_ time he allowed himself to say no to the boy.

Until the sun set for the last time.

Hook had known the demon could control the weather, the seas around the island, the beasts and inhabitants. He had long suspected that power extended somewhat to the length of days or nights, for on one particularly hot and unproductive day that seemed to last forever, Hook had actually taken the time to sit in the shade of the mast and compare the movement of the sun with the sand in his hourglass. They most definitely did not match up. Still, he had figured the differences evened out in the end, and as he had no other way of marking what would have been the passage of weeks and months in his native land, he counted sunsets. And that's how he knew what day to disregard Pan's orders.

Now he couldn't even do that anymore. They lived in one eternal night, watching the moon's erratic course and finding nothing consistent in its movements. Pan was the clear victor of the game, as he most often was, and Hook hated him all the more for it.

So much for always knowing how many nights he'd spent alone.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Chapter 16: What Tempo, Cap'n?_**

With a roar and rush of water, the Jolly Roger popped from the portal, coating the deck and its passengers in salty mist. Giant waves raced outwards from her hull and came to a crashing halt against the beach. Emma scoured the coastline, confused by the lack of habitation.

"I thought we were headed for that one tavern?"

"Aye, love. Contrary to what one might suppose, the Bloody Buccaneer is a significant distance inland. This coast must be the closest the portal could take the Jolly Roger without beaching her."

As there was no harbor, Killian elected to weigh anchor right where they drifted and utilize Emma's magic to get them to shore. While they worked to secure the ship, Killian asked,

"Can you kindly cloak her, love? I'd prefer to avoid another duel with bloody Blackbeard, especially considering my current condition."

She gave him a quick kiss on the temple. "I think I can manage that."

Soon after, the trio appeared in a cloud on the sand, and not a trace could be seen of Killian's ship on the waves. Smee immediately pulled Casey's scarf from his bag.

"May as well give this a try," he explained.

Emma produced the spell and sprinkled the liquid over the scarf. All three were startled when the accessory leapt into the air and headed toward the trees.

"He's… he's _here_?" Smee exclaimed.

"So it would appear," Killian breathed, unsure how to feel about the revelation. On the one hand, it _did_ significantly simplify their quest. But if Casey had avoided the curse, he may well be as old or older than his father by now. Physically, anyway.

As the trio hurried to catch up with the scarf, Smee panted,

"Does it… I mean… it means he's alive, right? Would it work at all if he weren't?"

"I don't know, Smee," Emma replied honestly.

"Swan, say Casey were in the vicinity of Cora and myself for the first curse, and ended up frozen in time with us. What then would have become of him during the second?"

She shrugged. "I would have thought he'd end up in Storybrooke, unless he found a way to outrun it, like you."

They had neared the purposefully flying scarf and could slow their pace a bit. Which was good, as they were now among the trees and difficult terrain of the forest.

"Wonderful," Killian remarked. "A bloody nature walk."

"Couldn't we just, somehow, 'poof' to where the scarf is headed?" Smee wondered.

"I don't think it works that way," Emma told him. "Sorry."

Killian made a rueful face at Smee. "In reality, Smee, treks through the forest are a fact of life for us hero types. What percentage of our time would you estimate such journeys occupy, Swan? Sixty, seventy?"

Emma smiled. "At least sixty."

"I remember from our encounter with Ariel," Smee pointed out.

"That was hardly a heroic journey, mate, but fair point. The thing to keep in mind is that even though there's a return trip this time, we have in our presence a magically gifted lass who can substantially reduce it."

"That will be helpful," Smee admitted. "Especially when my feet get too blistered to even attempt the hike back."

"Not as spry as we once were, eh mate?" Killian teased. "Not to worry, Smee. Emma can easily wave away all our aches and pains."

"Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Thank you, Sheriff."

"Emma," she insisted. Smee ducked his head and mumbled,

"Thank you, Emma."

They trekked for hours, through brambles, creeks, clearings; up hills and down ledges; growing ever more weary and footsore as they bemoaned the lack of roads or even clear trails to follow. The scarf plowed through- or over, in many cases- all obstacles, never slowing. Sometimes, Emma had to catch it and hold it with her magic as they struggled past barriers or took well-earned breaks. It would float dumbly, bobbing up and down in her snare until released, and then resume its dogged course.

They traveled in silence, for the most part, choosing to save their strength for the task at hand. Emma kept an eye on both men and helped to heal the inevitable scrapes and scratches of trailblazing. Killian wouldn't admit it to either of his companions, but the hike was really taking its toll on him. Each step sent harsh vibrations through his lacerated back; his clothing rubbed uncomfortably against the bandages; the sweat and heat of his torso itched and prickled the skin. But he just concentrated on pressing forward. Casey needed them.

The scarf was still moving as the sun neared the horizon. When they came to a likely campsite, Emma waved her hand and brought the woolen item to her fist. She stuffed it into the front pocket of her pack, where it struggled momentarily before seeming to surrender.

"I don't know about you guys, but I'm _so_ ready for a rest."

Smee nodded with a grimace. "I was ready hours ago. But now is right, I think."

"Aye," Killian agreed. "No sense in subjecting ourselves to the rigors of night-time travel."

The pirate used a tree trunk to help himself balance as he sank stiffly to his knees. A pronounced growl escaped his chest at the fire from his back.

"You okay, Killian?" Emma asked gently, kneeling at his side. He gave her an unconvincing smile.

"Just celebrating the weight off my feet."

Smee flopped down on a relatively clear patch of dirt nearby and released a sigh of his own. "Oh, you're right; that _is_ heavenly."

Killian carefully lowered himself onto his side, teeth tightly clenched. Emma handed him some water, which he drank obediently. Smee was searching through his pack for some rations.

"How's your back?" Emma murmured sympathetically when Killian hissed a grimace.

"Bothersome," he told her honestly. "But likely to improve with rest."

She nodded and they wearily shared some of the trail food she'd packed.

"I'll put up a protection spell and cloak us so we don't have to worry about posting watch," Emma offered. Both Smee and Killian gave her looks of gratitude.

"You are bloody brilliant, Swan."

"I know," she teased. She brushed some fringe from his face and added, "Try and remember that while I change your bandages and do your shot tonight."

"'Twould be an impossibility for me to forget, under any circumstances."

They finished their meal, and Emma took care of the magical chores of protecting the camp while Smee gathered firewood and laid out their bedrolls. Killian fought the guilt of being unable to assist in either task.

When Emma returned to his side, she magically removed his shirt and set about cleaning and applying fresh bandages to his back. The process soon had him woozy with pain. If she noticed a worsening of the wounds, she didn't say so, opting to work as quickly and gently as she could. Smee watched in sympathy, still munching on his snacks.

Emma tenderly wiped the sweat from Killian's face, and he opened his eyes to smile up at her.

"A marked improvement," he reported. "Thank you."

She nodded, and then he saw a trace of nerves in her eyes, followed by a flash of determination.

"Ok. Let's do this." Emma rummaged in her pack and produced the pouch containing Killian's antibiotic supplies. Killian sighed.

"Aye." Then he added, "Although could we not just skip it? I won't tell Whale if you don't."

Concentrating on filling a syringe with the correct dose, Emma replied,

"Probably not a good idea. There's this thing called antibiotic resistance… plus this was the only way I was going to let you come along, remember?"

"Of course, love. I was only jesting." He gingerly rolled onto his stomach, using his forearms as a pillow. He turned his head to face the camp, watching as she finished her preparations. She scooted close and lowered the waistband of his trousers the appropriate amount. Then she looked at him.

"Are you sure you want Smee here to watch this?"

Killian smirked. "It doesn't bother me. Mister Smee has seen my bare backside on more than one occasion."

"Strictly for healing purposes," Smee hastened to clarify. Killian grinned slyly.

"No need to worry, Smee. Emma is quite the modern lass. You could just admit you're enjoying the view."

"Oh really?" Smee answered challengingly. "Then maybe we should take a moment to discuss Pirate's Cove?"

Killian was instantly backpedaling. "Bloody hell, mate! Not in front of the lady!"

Smee chuckled, and Killian gave him a wink. As he felt Emma cleaning the skin where she intended to give the injection, he could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

"Okay, well, I'm not sure _I_ want him watching me make a mess of this."

Wishing he could look her in the eyes to reassure her, Killian said honestly,

"You don't have to be nervous, love. There's no one in all the realms I would trust more to do this for me. Excepting Smee, of course."

Smee smiled and nodded at the compliment. Emma sighed and he felt her move the skin aside as Thea had shown her.

"You owe me for this, Pirate," she grumbled.

"I'm sure I'll find _something_ to stick in you when we get home," Killian quipped. With a groan, Emma stabbed the needle into the muscle. Killian could hear Smee tittering softly at her embarrassment. Closing his eyes, he murmured,

"Sorry, Swan. That was just too easy."

When the full dose had been administered, Emma slapped a Band-Aid over the ache and asked,

"Ok?"

"Aye. Didn't feel a thing," he lied. With a grimace, he pushed himself back onto his side. "Although I wouldn't complain if you were to… kiss it better."

She smiled sweetly at him as she cleaned up the supplies. "Hmmm. Tempting… but I think I'll leave that job to Smee."


	17. Chapter 17

**_Chapter 17: Thou Glittering Bauble_**

 _~Enchanted Forest: Neverland Year 50-something?~_

"I'll see you hanged, dirty pirate!"

Hook writhed under the spear impaling his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. He turned a murderous glare on the man who'd bested him and sneered through his pain.

"What's the matter? Too afraid to finish me yourself?"

The villager scowled but remained out of reach. "A quick death is too easy for the likes of Captain Hook."

"Well, listen to that. I'm famous."

"Most people think you're some kind of demon, coming out of the Underworld every few years to wreak your destruction on the innocent." He smirked and indicated Hook's wound. "I don't know though; you look pretty mortal to me."

A woman's scream sounded not far off, and the gazes of both men flicked in that direction. Hook chuckled mirthlessly.

"You have a wife, mate? Children?" His voice became a husky rumble. "Daughters?" His lecherous leer, forced though it was, had the desired effect as the villager lunged forward with an enraged snarl. His fist flew, and Hook's head snapped back against the wall hard enough to momentarily darken his vision.

"You'll not lay a finger on them! I'll see to that!"

Blinking back wooziness, the pirate huffed another pained laugh, noting the other man's sword against his throat. "I think you'll agree I'm hardly in a position to threaten anyone just now. Alas, the same cannot be said of me crew…"

After a flicker of uncertainty, the villager pasted a brave face over his worry. "Zeus will protect them. I will do my duty."

Suddenly, the man staggered backwards, then fell to his knees, his own dagger buried up to its hilt in his abdomen.

"Looks like Zeus is on my side; apologies, mate," Hook called down mockingly. Just then, Smee scurried around the corner, Johnny Corkscrew unsheathed. He stopped short and took in the scene.

"Impeccable timing, Smee," growled Hook.

"Sorry, Captain, I…" He rushed forward and held his dagger to the wounded villager's throat. Then his anxious stare returned to his captain. "How can I help?"

Hook raised a shaking hand to the spear handle and attempted to tug it free of the wall, but it was stuck fast, and his pain was now magnified tenfold. He moaned a breath and waved his hand at his cutlass, which lay just beyond his feet. "My blade," he breathed. Smee dragged the whimpering villager along until he could reach the captain's weapon while still keeping control of the captive.

Hook grasped the cutlass hilt tightly and grit his teeth. Without allowing himself to dwell on how much it would hurt, he took a mighty swing at the spear haft. Unfortunately, it was more sturdy than he'd hoped, and the blade only managed to cut a nick in the wood. With an agonized cry, he gripped the protruding weapon to stop its vibration, only just managing to keep a hold of the cutlass at the same time.

"Smee," he gasped, eyes screwed shut.

"Oh, gods, Captain; why would you do that?"

"Release the prisoner and come help me. He's not going anywhere."

Smee stepped away from the villager, who was still clutching at his wound, but managed a taunting sneer up at Hook.

"I got you good."

"I'll have your head for ruining my coat," Hook bit back with all the false bravado he could muster. Smee hovered at his shoulder, afraid to touch the spear.

"What do I do, sir?"

"Step back," hissed Hook. "Unless you'd like a hook of your own."

Smee complied quickly.

"And grasp the damn spear shaft so I can cut it short."

Smee got the picture. "Wait. What if… I think it would maybe work better if I… did the cutting? And you hold it steady closer to where it… goes in?"

Hook swallowed and nodded, conceding the point. He passed the cutlass to his first mate and wrapped his fingers in a death grip around the wood flush against his shoulder. "Not too close, mate. I don't fancy a shave today."

Nervously, Smee nodded and gripped the other end of the spear in his left hand and the cutlass in his right. He eyed the spot he was aiming for and then drew back the blade. Then he paused.

"Ready, sir?"

"Bloody hell, mate, just get on with it!"

Smee licked dry lips and then swung the blade, quickly but timidly. The spear splintered but remained intact. Hook moaned imprecations as his knees threatened to give way. Smee bit back a curse of his own before bringing the cutlass crashing down again. This time, the spear snapped off, leaving only a bit more than a hand's width protruding from the pirate's shoulder.

Face frozen in a grimace, Hook gasped several breaths and fought against the fiery agony racing through his arm and chest. He shuddered and began inching his left boot upwards against the wall, until the sole rested flat, his knee bent. Smee noticed and sputtered,

"Wait, Captain, are you sure that's the wisest…"

With an anguished yell, Hook launched himself forward, wrenching his shoulder free from the spear. He staggered a step and then collapsed onto his knees, hand pressed tightly against the wound. Smee gave an anxious whine and crouched next to his captain.

"Let me see," he commanded before gently pulling Hook's hand away. The bleeding was heavy, but not spurting in the manner in which Smee had come to associate with mortal wounds. He allowed Hook to resume clutching at the injury.

"Gods," hissed Hook, his eyes shut tightly in a wince. He arched his back at the unexpected contact when Smee pressed a handkerchief to the exit hole in his shoulderblade.

"Thought Zeus was on your side," muttered the villager from a few meters away.

"Still with us, mate?" Hook opened his eyes and glared. "What an unpleasant surprise. Smee."

Smee was attempting to dig some bandages from his satchel with one hand. "Almost finished, sir."

"That he is."

"I… I don't follow," Smee admitted.

"The honor is yours, sailor. Finish him."

"In a minute, Captain. First let me-"

" _Now_." His savage tone had Smee on his feet in an instant with Johnny Corkscrew in hand.

"Yes Captain."

Smee still hated killing. Always would. But he had grown unfortunately accustomed to it, and no longer hesitated to follow Hook's orders.

The doomed villager held up a hand to ward off the blow. "Wait! Spare me, and I'll give you something you want."

"Kill him, Smee. I'm not interested."

"It's about the Dark One," the man choked, Johnny tight against his jugular. Hook raised an eyebrow, and Smee paused.

"Dark One? Never heard of him," Hook replied casually. The other man gulped and continued.

"Tales of Captain Hook also describe how you raid libraries, places of learning. You torture wise men and witches, seeking information about the Dark One."

"And who is telling these tales? Captain Hook shows no mercy."

"Must be survivors. I don't know that part. But I _do_ have something on the Dark One. I swear. Let me live, and I will impart my knowledge."

"Go on then. We'll decide later whether it's worth your life."

The villager licked his lips, saying,

"They say… his power is linked to a dagger. Similar in design to the one currently against my throat, in fact."

"Convenient," remarked a dubious Hook. He knew of the dagger's existence already, of course, from his brief encounter with Baelfire so long ago. But any details on its appearance or whereabouts had so far eluded him.

"If you can find the dagger, you can control him with it… or kill him and take his power for yourself."

Hook's expression darkened momentarily. Then he scoffed, trying to draw more information from the man. "Imaginative. Not bad, under duress. Smee?"

The villager hissed at the tightening of Smee's grip. "It's the truth! I swear it!"

'"Aye? And how do you happen to be an expert on all things Dark One?"

"I wanted to be prepared for just such an eventuality as this. It's worth the price I paid if you let me and my family live."

"Afraid your word alone won't suffice for me. It's the company I keep." Hook winced a grin at Smee's affronted huff.

"I thought as much. That's why I have proof."

Hook struggled to hold onto his look of disinterest. In truth, his heart hammered at the prospect of actual progress after so many fruitless years. "Have you now? Let's have it, then."

"I don't have it _with_ me. I didn't wake up this morning planning to get caught up in a pirate raid. It's at my home."

"Ah." Hook allowed himself to slouch forward, his pain and exhaustion only serving to magnify his disappointment. "A trap then."

"No, no; I swear it isn't! On… on the life of my beloved."

It must have been the shock and blood loss, but Hook found himself inclined to believe the man. And for _proof_ of the weapon that could kill the Crocodile… it was worth the risk.

"There never was a trap could hold Captain Hook for long," he boasted ironically. None but his crew knew of their enslavement to Pan, to Neverland… the biggest trap of them all.

Hook turned his gaze to his first mate. "Up for a little walk, Mister Smee?"

"I don't know, Captain; we really ought to get you back to the ship so I can patch you up."

"Your tortures can wait," Hook grimaced. "Our new friend has made an invitation we can't refuse." He nodded at the man's wound. "Give him some assistance so he won't drop dead along the way."

Smee looked annoyed, but put away his dagger and dug out the bandage he had intended for Hook.

"No need to be gentle about it, though," Hook winked.

After both men had temporary bandages courtesy of Smee, they began the agonizing trek to the villager's house. Hook wouldn't have minded the slow pace, as his own legs trembled and the world seemed determined to knock him sideways with its spinning- except that his thirst for vengeance was a serious competitor with his patience. Smee was content to keep an eye on both patients and watch for straggling resistance from the other villagers.

Their guide finally limped to a halt in front of a moderate-sized dwelling, looking sweaty and ashen; Hook was sure his own countenance mirrored the other's.

"Smee? If you would?"

Sighing, Smee guessed,

"Spring the trap?"

"Your life for a chance at my revenge? A bargain, that."

Smee nodded resignedly and pushed his way inside, leading the way with Johnny Corkscrew. Hook and the villager waited outside, eyeing each other distrustfully. Finally, Smee returned with a shrug.

"There's no one inside. Want me to keep watch out here?"

"Aye. And don't bugger it up this time."

Smee winced and then stepped aside. Hook bade the villager lead the way, and he followed with cutlass in hand.

The house really was deserted, as far as Hook could tell. "Where's the missus, then?"

The homeowner sneered.

"Safe," was his belligerent reply. Hook prodded his shoulder with his blade.

"Need I remind you of our purpose here? You've one minute to retrieve your proof, or your lady comes home to a corpse in her bed."

Wordlessly, the other man led Hook to a small room that seemed to serve as library, laundry, and larder all in one. Without hesitation, the man pulled a book from its shelf and thumbed it open to a marked page. His fingers left rusty smudges on the paper; Hook's did likewise when he reached to take the proffered volume. Sure enough, the page contained a sketch of the dagger, ornately decorated but otherwise very like Johnny Corkscrew in size and shape. A short written description confirmed what the man had said earlier. Hook dangled the book open in an attempt to flick through the pages one-handed.

"Does it contain any other mentions of that demon?"

The man shook his head. "But feel free to take it and look for yourself."

"I'll do that, though I hardly need your permission, mate."

Hook tucked the book between his chest and immobile brace so he could properly brandish his weapon. Stepping closer, he shoved the villager back against the wall, blade to his throat. Both men winced simultaneously at the spikes of pain from their respective injuries.

"How do I know this isn't a forgery?"

"You don't," the man choked out. "But it isn't. I got it from a wandering wizard, several years back. I bet if you were to bring it to someone gifted in magic, they could confirm for you that it's genuine."

"The wizard. What did he look like?"

"Like… a wizard. White hair, long beard."

Hook scowled at the flippant reply, but was too weary and in too much pain to berate him for it. "Let me guess. You know nothing of his origin or destination."

"Like I said. A wanderer. Not seen him before, nor since."

It couldn't have been someone he _knew_. Someone who lived in the village, whom Hook could interrogate for more details. Of _course_ it was a rover. Considering how much time had already elapsed in Neverland, how many blasted decades until the _next_ snippet of information finally made its way into his possession?

Without further conversation, he forced the other man back to the doorway, where Smee waited vigilantly.

"Well?" asked Smee eagerly.

"He speaks truth," Hook reported. "Alas, no mention of the blasted dagger's whereabouts."

"So… now what?"

Both pirates looked at the villager, who met their gazes bravely. Hook sighed and sheathed his cutlass.

"Leave him be. By the look of that wound, he's not long for this world anyway."

Smee couldn't help a relieved little grin as the villager rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind them. "Back to the ship?"

"Aye. Back to the ship." Hook shifted his grip on the book and winced. "Bloody hell. Back to the _rum_ ," he amended emphatically.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Chapter 18: Fate's Design_**

Three days passed in much the same manner as the scarf led them ever farther from the Jolly Roger. Killian's back remained in a comparable state, starting off tolerable in the morning and growing more painful as the day's labors took their toll. Yet he never allowed himself to complain. Neither did Emma, as she patiently and meticulously tended the wounds each evening. She seemed to grow less apprehensive about the antibiotics with each injection, which was a small comfort to them both.

On the fourth day, nearing midday, Killian began to find something familiar about the terrain. An hour or two later, and he was sure of it. He'd come this way before. In much less pleasant company.

The forest thinned, and soon, they could hear the unmistakable sound of waves breaking on shore. As they walked, they occasionally caught glimpses of the nearby ocean through the trees. Eventually, the scarf broke through the treeline and led them onto a rocky coast that curled into a forested tombolo way off in the distance.

"This is it, love," Killian breathed. "This is where I dodged the first curse, with the assistance of Cora."

Emma took in the desolate, windswept beach with interest. "Huh. So you were right."

"Smee, mate; that could mean Casey was within Cora's shield as well, and avoided aging those twenty-eight years."

Smee looked like he dared not allow himself that hope. "Do you really think so? That would be… wow; more than I ever dreamed."

"It still doesn't explain the second curse," Emma pointed out gently.

"Aye, well, perhaps we'll be fortunate enough to have the answer soon."

They skirted the waves for the whole length of the bay, then followed the scarf onto the protruding spit. On the leeward side of the tied island, the elevation changed dramatically to form moderate cliffs. A narrow stretch of beach formed the base of these cliffs, and it was there the scarf took them.

At times, the waves crashed close enough to spray them all. The damp sand clutched at their boots, and their footprints quickly filled with a fine layer of water.

They rounded a bend to find the entrance to a cave gaping just ahead. Casey's scarf made a beeline to the opening, hovered triumphantly until they approached, and then sank to the ground, lifeless once again.

"He's… in there?" Smee whispered.

"His scarf sure thinks so," Emma replied, bending to pluck up the garment and brush the sand from it. Smee took several tentative steps inside, and Killian hastened to follow. But then he noticed Emma had stopped.

"Swan? What's wrong?"

Emma stood just outside the cave entrance, hands raised, fingers splayed. She wore the look of concentration Killian recognized as her 'magic face.' He took a few steps back in her direction. Smee had halted reluctantly, but would not retrace his path.

"Emma?" Killian reached up to touch her wrist, and she shook her head at him.

"There's… some kind of shield, or protection spell. I can't get in."

"Take your time, love. It'll be okay."

Killian could feel Smee's impatience behind him as Emma focused with all her might. Several long moments elapsed, and soon, Emma was shaking with effort. Finally, she released her breath in an audible huff.

"I can't. It's too strong for me alone."

Killian searched her face as he nodded understandingly.

"That's all right, love; you gave it your best effort." He took her hands in his. "So this protection spell… it only keeps out magical beings?"

Emma sighed. "Guess so. And whoever cast it must be pretty powerful."

Killian glanced uneasily back at Smee. "Likely the wizard who took Casey, then."

Smee fidgeted anxiously. Killian pivoted to stand directly beside Emma, facing his first mate.

"Perhaps we should return with magical back-up."

"We can't!" Smee whined. "Richard's in there; the locator spell confirmed it!" He got hold of his fear and put on an air of determination. "I won't leave him."

"You heard what Emma said, mate," Killian reasoned gently. "She can't accompany us. It will be the two of us against a powerful wizard."

"Like old times, then." Smee tried to smile, but ended up donning a terrified grimace. Killian glanced at Emma and saw Smee's fear reflected in her gaze.

"Killian," she pleaded. Killian, in turn, gave a beseeching look at Smee.

"We'll likely be of far greater assistance with magic-wielding allies."

Smee shook his head stubbornly. "I can't leave him. Not when we're so close!" The tears were already gathering in his eyes. "How do we even know he'd still be here by the time we got back? I'm sorry. I'm going in now. A… alone, if necessary."

Killian closed his eyes and nodded once. Then he turned to Emma with his unique grin of uncertain bravado. "We'll be back shortly, love. With Casey in tow."

Emma swallowed her fear and smiled back. "Be careful. Don't try to fight the wizard on your own. If… if it looks like it's going to come to that, just…" She sighed and wiped a hand over her eyes. "I'm not going to tell you to abandon Smee. I just wish I could come with you."

"I know." Killian wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close for a passionate kiss. Nose to nose, Emma whispered,

"Promise you'll come back."

"I promise."

They parted, and he gave her hand one last squeeze. Then he took a deep breath and followed an already-moving Smee into the depths of the cave.


	19. Chapter 19

**_Chapter 19: You'll Have Hook to Thank_**

 _~Enchanted Forest: 4 months prior to Neverland escape~_

"Oooh, tough luck, mate." Hook winced in fake sympathy before revealing his cards: a straight flush to the other's four of a kind. His opponent sat back, disgusted, muttering,

"Conniving cur. Thievery, this is."

Hook only laughed at his misery, wiggling his outstretched fingers with eyebrows raised. "Let's have it, then."

"Why would a filthy pirate like you want my hat?"

"I _don't_ want it. I just don't _you_ to have it."

The man looked confused.

"That hat is offensive to anyone with any sense about them. Even Smee here will agree… and look what he's got on _his_ head."

Smee smiled halfheartedly. The man Hook had beaten seemed about to get up and flee the scene… until a hook flashed out and pinned his shirtsleeve to the tabletop.

"The owner of this fine establishment doesn't take kindly to those who renege on their deals. And frankly, neither do I."

"You don't want to upset the captain," Smee assured the man. "Not in his favorite tavern. Besides…" He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You can always get another hat."

With his free hand, the man snatched the hat in question off his head and angrily slammed it to the tabletop. Hook sat back with a smirk, releasing his sleeve.

"I take it you don't fancy another game?"

Hook watched the other leave in a huff, then eyed the plumed monstrosity with distaste. Smee read his thoughts.

"Fire, sir? Or toss it off the stern in our wake when we leave this place?"

"I don't want that atrocity within half a league of my ship. A bloody bad omen, it is."

"It's not _that_ bad," protested Smee.

"Says the man with footwear on his nut."

"The hearth it is," Smee sighed as he got up to dispose of the hat. Hook grinned and drained his last shot of rum. Before he could flag a serving wench, a stranger slid into the seat Smee had just vacated. Hook studied him blearily. Gaunt, with a mane of white hair behind a bald crown and a sizeable goatee to match. His robes were adorned with patches of long animal hair at the shoulders.

"Captain Hook, I presume?" said the stranger in a deep rumble.

"In the flesh. And… well, you know." He indicated his hook with an innocent shrug.

"I have a proposition for you."

"Not here to do business, mate. The crew and I patronize the Bloody Buccaneer strictly for pleasure. A night off, you might say."

"You may make an exception when you hear what I have to offer."

Hook glanced upwards in exasperation. "I've slit throats for far less audacious behavior." Then he sighed. "What's your name?"

"It matters not."

"It does when I bloody well ask it. _Mate._ "

"I can free you from your bondage to Pan."

All good humor left Hook, and he leaned forward, eyes fierce. "Your next words had best be good, or they'll be your last."

"You can pretend what you like, Captain, but I know your story. All of that bluster serves to mask your pain- your helplessness, the shame of what you've been forced to do all of these years. Centuries, in fact. And still no closer to your precious vengeance. Such a pity."

Hook stood abruptly, nearly knocking the table over. Cards and chips scattered, and Smee's drink tumbled off the edge. With a snarl, he plunged his hook into the man's neck... only to have it pass harmlessly through thin air. He froze.

"Crocodile?" he hissed uncertainly. From the seat to his right, the magic man laughed.

"Hardly. I'm no Dark One; though I wouldn't say no to the role should the opportunity arise."

Hook turned to face him with his fist clenched tightly. "What do you _want?_ " he snapped. Smee plodded over slowly, reluctant to interject.

"Everything all right, Captain?"

"This bloody wizard is determined to ruin my evening."

"Wizard? You say?" Smee took a step back, wringing his hands.

"We were just discussing a trade," the magic man said amiably. "I can give you a way out of Neverland. Permanently."

Still standing tensely, Hook scowled. "Unless you have a damn pegasus sail, or the only magic bean left in the whole bloody Enchanted Forest…"

"That's exactly what I can offer." He produced the translucent bean with a flourish, and Hook's throat constricted. So like the one that had gotten Milah killed.

"Even so…" His voice was hoarse, trembling. "Pan's got his talons in all of us. Who's to say he can't just snatch us back, even if we manage to leave of our own accord?"

"That's why you'll need to bathe it in the spring at the heart of the island. The bean soaks in Neverland's magic, the portal becomes imbued with it, and essentially strips the magic's hold on your ship and its crew as you pass through."

"Simple as that?"

It would be anything but simple, of course. Nothing in Neverland was ever easy, and to somehow trek to that cursed, Dreamshade-infested spring without Pan's notice…

The magic man was nodding earnestly. Hook sighed and sank into his chair, while Smee remained standing warily across the table.

"And in return?"

With a disarming smile, the stranger said,

"One of your men."

Hook raised an eyebrow, taken aback. "What?"

"I will give you this bean- your long-awaited freedom- in exchange for one of your men."

Hook tried a confused grin. "What could you possibly want with any of my scurvy crew?"

"I'm afraid the answer to that is not part of the bargain. So yes or no? I don't have all night."

Hook considered him for a long moment. Smee's hand-wringing intensified.

"Captain? Can I just point out… anyone we leave behind now will still get sucked back to Neverland when Pan next summons the Jolly Roger."

Hook frowned at his first mate. "Thank you for your honesty, Smee. And here I thought I was making a decent pirate out of you."

Smee ducked his head, but watched the wizard hopefully. The other just shrugged away the concern.

"There are other ways to sever ties to Neverland. You needn't worry on my account."

Hook's gaze skimmed the room as he calculated which of his remaining men might be the most expendable. "Pan will likely notice if someone goes missing."

"Tell him they were killed. I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time."

After another pause, Smee stepped closer to Hook. "Captain… there'll be other opportunities… and now we know the secret of using the spring…"

"'Other opportunities?' Aye, the last two centuries have been rife with ways to escape. Why do you think we're still tethered to the bloody island?!"

"Th-that may be true, but…"

"It's a deal," Hook declared. Smee's protestations grew louder, until Hook stood and glared threateningly at him. The wizard also stood, surveying the men in the tavern. Casually, Hook asked,

"My choice, mate?"

The wizard nodded, unconcerned. Hook scanned the crowd until spotting the sailor he had in mind.

"Casey," he called. The pirate looked up and obeyed Hook's summoning beckon. At Hook's side, Smee made a strangled gasping noise; almost a sob. When Casey had presented himself before the trio, Hook put on a dispassionate expression.

"Thank you for your years of service, mate. You are hereby dismissed from my crew."

Casey looked stunned. "S-sir?"

"This man is your new captain, sailor. Obey him well and make us proud, eh?"

The wizard made no move to welcome Casey, or put him at ease. In fact, he barely acknowledged him.

Smee gripped Hook's forearm tightly. "Please, sir… you can't do this… you don't even know what he wants with him! He… he… Casey's always been loyal!"

Hook glared at the touch in annoyance. "You and Casey, mate? I never realized either of you possessed such proclivities."

Smee carried on, oblivious. "You know who… you should trade away Cecco. Or… or Mason. Just yesterday I heard him say you were hoarding secret treasure from Pan…"

Hook pulled his brace away and twisted to grip Smee's throat, cutting off his panicked babbling. "Ratting out your crew mates? Bad form, Smee. It's decided."

As Smee clawed at the fingers wrapped around his neck, Hook gave a serious nod to the wizard, who lay the bean carefully on the table in front of the captain. Then, in a silvery cloud of magic, both Casey and the wizard were gone. Hook released Smee with a shove and retrieved his new prize while his first mate fell limply to the floor. Hook stowed the bean safely in an inside pocket, then eyed the sobbing wretch at his feet. He rolled his eyes.

"Bloody hell. Be a man, for once in your life."

Hook suddenly felt the words reflecting back on himself. _What kind of man…_

No. Magic beans outvalued a bloody rowboat by a thousand. Casey was a grown man- a _pirate_ \- well able to fend for himself. There was no comparison. None.

His mood for pleasure strangely dimmed despite the massive change in fortune, Hook stalked in the direction of his rented room. Leaving behind a broken, openly weeping William Smee.


	20. Chapter 20

**_Chapter 20: I'm Not There Yet_**

Killian and Smee didn't get far into the cave before darkness enveloped them; before the only weak light came from the flashing-light-things they'd brought from Storybrooke. Killian had his cutlass at the ready. Even Smee went so far as to dig out his trusty Johnny. The cave descended, becoming more tunnel-like in appearance, and both men were reminded of the mines beneath Storybrooke. The silence hurt their ears; even their footsteps and breathing were muffled and sounded far away.

After nearly a quarter of an hour, by Killian's estimation, a faint light appeared in the distance. Almost a trick of the mind at first, but as they neared, it took on a shimmery blue quality that flickered on the cave walls, ceiling, and floor. Soon, their electronic lights were no longer necessary.

Abruptly, the rock all around them was encased in glass: they'd stepped into a long, rectangular glass tunnel, through which the stone was still visible. Killian brushed his fingers along the smooth surface as they walked, wondering at its purpose.

The light grew stronger, though it kept its bluish tinge. Up ahead, they could see what appeared to be full daylight, and faint outlines of shapes still obscured by distance.

Moments later, they spotted someone awaiting their arrival, and it wasn't long before they recognized him: the very same wizard who had traded Casey for the bean. He didn't appear surprised to see them, or unhappy they were there. Still, Killian tightened his grip on his weapon and set a determined look on his face.

When they neared, the wizard nodded in greeting.

"Captain Hook. And your little buddy. Welcome to my fortress."

Killian came to a halt a cautious distance from the man. "You may call him Mister Smee. And forgive me; I don't believe we've had the pleasure of learning _your_ name."

"It's Tuliro. Not nearly as well-known as Hook, I'm afraid. But I suppose that's what I get for squirreling myself away in an underwater lair."

Killian raised an eyebrow, trying to see ahead where the tunnel came to an end. Tuliro smirked smugly.

"You gentlemen are just in time. If you would care to follow me…"

"Where's my son?" Smee interrupted fiercely. Tuliro looked at him in surprise.

"Your son? Is that who he is?"

Smee nodded, blinking back tears. Tuliro turned his back on his guests, continuing,

"As I said. Follow me; I will take you to him."

Smee turned desperately hopeful eyes on Killian, who smiled back hesitantly. Of course he wanted to find out Casey's fate; he just hoped it wasn't anything too gruesome. Still, Tuliro _had_ used the present tense when referring to Casey…

The two former pirates did as instructed, following the wizard to the end of the tunnel. It connected to a massive glass dome, over which one could clearly see the back-and-forth motion of waves. The glass was close enough to the surface that daylight still easily penetrated the water, casting ever-moving lines of light over everything.

Inside the dome was an elegant structure, looking very much like a small castle, complete with towers, ramparts, and the like. Curiously enough, the place was vacant and silent, except for a tinny-sounding melody on a harp. Killian could have sworn it was like the sound given off by Henry's iPod players; given the man's former possession of magic beans, perhaps it was.

Tuliro skirted the castle and followed the edge of the dome. Kelp beds and sea creatures were visible nearby, seemingly undisturbed by the sight of humans walking freely in their midst.

"Impressed?" Tuliro asked grandly. Casually, Killian shrugged.

"Well, it's not my first time beneath the waves."

Then Killian caught sight of a statue among the seagrass. A human statue, lifesize, made of stone. Farther out, another, and another. As they walked the circumference of the dome, dozens more became apparent, lurking creepily on the seafloor.

"Interesting choice of decoration," Killian remarked gravely. "Not my first thought for how to improve the ocean depths."

Tuliro grinned contentedly. "They calm me. I look at each of their faces, the way the light just dances over them, and everything is right with the world."

Killian and Smee exchanged dubious looks. Not all of the statues' faces were visible, but many of the ones that were had expressions of pain, terror, or grief. Not exactly 'calming' in Killian's perspective.

"Good for you," Killian replied impatiently. "But what does this have to do with Casey?"

Instead of answering, Tuliro took a few more paces forward, then nodded to himself. He waved his hand, and Killian had to stop abruptly to avoid crashing into a statue that was suddenly dripping puddles on the floor in front of him. Smee's eyes went wide in horror as he recognized his son. He touched a trembling hand to the glistening face.

"What… have you _done_ … to him?" he squeaked through tears. Aghast, Killian also reached forward to touch the stone figure of his former crewman.

Tuliro sighed dramatically. "It's not _permanent_. Well, not always, anyway. That's why I said you were just in time."

He seemed to wait for further questioning, and Killian was only too happy to oblige. Scowling darkly, he raised his cutlass.

"What the _bloody_ hell is going on here?"

Tuliro looked down at the blade disdainfully before replying.

"I'll keep it simple, for your small pirate brains. See this platform here?"

He indicated the floor, and indeed, Casey's statue stood on a thin, oblong rectangle raised from the glass floor, which extended out a meter or so to Casey's right. A circle was etched around his feet; a similar circle was empty on the other end.

"It contains an enchantment which allows me to 'freeze' someone in time. Their potential life- all the actions and experiences they would have had if they weren't frozen- are converted into years, which are then added onto my lifespan."

"So he's… still alive?" Smee clarified hopefully, tears still flowing freely. Killian produced a handkerchief and offered it to Smee.

"For now, yes. As I said, frozen. The donor doesn't age; he remains exactly in the state in which he enters the enchantment. But there are a few… rules, and complications if they aren't followed."

"Naturally," Killian growled. "Such as?"

"Well, for one… if the donor is frozen for too long, he likely won't survive. He'll remain stone permanently. Thus, my collection." He waved a hand at all the other statues, and though Killian had worked it out by then, the thought that they had all once been real people sickened him.

"How long?"

"Before it's too late? Well, the normal length of the enchantment is twenty years. Mr. Casey here is an unusual case, though. Since he was still connected to Neverland's magic at the time I enacted the spell, I could extract many more years in a shorter amount of time. Which is why I was so keen to have one of your crew, Captain. I could add twenty years to my life in only five years of enchantment."

"A ratio of four to one? But shouldn't it have been more, given Neverland's ability to essentially make one immortal?"

Tuliro shrugged. "I don't know how it works, frankly. But that's what it ended up being, in this case."

"So, after five years for Casey, or twenty in the normal situation, the 'donor,' as you call them, must be released... or they die?"

"Yes, exactly. But they can't be released early, either. There's a small amount of leeway after the enchantment reaches maturity, but none before. It's impossible to end it before twenty years have elapsed."

Killian sighed. "Complicated indeed. And you… live all alone, draining life from people you enslave, and find it worthwhile to continue?"

"Such judgement, from a ruthless pirate!" Tuliro scoffed. "Especially one willing to extend his own life at such a high cost."

Killian scowled. Tuliro continued,

"Technically, it isn't 'draining' their life; they still end up with the same number of years lived. There's just a… pause… in the middle."

Smee, still running his hands along the statue's face, pleaded,

"Can we focus here? You said we're just in time, so does that mean Richard's five years are up?"

"As of a few weeks ago, yes."

"Okay, so… release him then!" Smee demanded. Tuliro flashed a knowing smile.

"There's one more detail I've not yet covered."

Both pirates waited tensely. Tuliro pointed to the empty circle on the platform.

"There must be another donor to take his place."

A long moment of silence followed, interrupted only by the occasional sniffle from Smee. Killian continued to glare at Tuliro, who stared back impassively.

"You mean to say," Killian finally began through clenched teeth. "That in order to set Casey free - to save his _life_ \- someone else must take his place? You would rip an innocent from their lives, their _families_ , for two decades, with no chance of early release, and then only allow them free if _another_ is enslaved? And while they have that on their conscience, they must reconcile themselves with the fact that they haven't aged a day, while their loved ones have moved on and the world has changed?"

"Pretty much," Tuliro agreed casually. Killian was trembling with rage.

"It's barbaric," he spat. Tuliro only laughed.

"You know, not all of my donors have been forced. Some did it willingly."

Killian didn't want to indulge the man. So he merely glowered. "Keep lying to your conscience, mate. Whatever helps you to sleep at night."

"Does it hurt?" Smee asked quietly.

"Well, judging by the reactions of those being frozen… it certainly isn't _fun_."

Smee sobbed a breath and then said,

"I'll do it."

Killian closed his eyes. Tuliro snorted a taunt.

"Ah, the love of a father. How predictable."

Smee sniffed. "Can… will I at least be able to see him? Before?"

"The process is simultaneous, although I do believe the previous donor thaws from head down while the new donor freezes from feet up, so you may be able to converse for a moment or two."

"Well, there's that, at least." Smee smiled weakly. He scrubbed at his face with the handkerchief and then squared his shoulders. "So I just stand in the other circle, or…"

Tuliro made a grand gesture to the platform and Smee made to step forward.

But Killian opened his eyes and grabbed Smee's wrist with his hand.

"I can't let you do this."

Smee frowned, ready to truly stand up to Killian, no matter the consequences. "Captain… he's my _son_. He's going to _die_. I know you want me to wait for Emma, for magical backup, whatever. But we don't have _time_. I'm doing it."

Smee pulled away emphatically. But as he took a step forward, Killian moved with him, blocking his path and putting his hand and hook up to Smee's chest.

"I can't allow it." Killian saw the anger and hurt on his first mate's face, and took a steadying breath. "Because it should be me."

In the shocked silence that followed, Killian watched Smee's eyes. Desperate for something to concentrate on other than his racing thoughts. Thoughts of his Swan, his Emma, waiting for them up above. His promise to return to her. Of the life they had planned together; all the little moments he would miss, just _being_ with her, the feel of her caresses; her love he was still in awe of. Their easy camaraderie and joy-filled days working together. Their nights of passion, or just gentle slumber in each other's arms. The lovely house by the sea; fixing it up just so.

Thoughts of Henry, becoming a man, perhaps starting a family of his own. Of little Neal, who in twenty years' time wouldn't even remember his brother-in-law.

Thoughts of… of their _own_ children. _Gods._ The little blonde-headed, green-eyed cherubs, running wildly through the yard, all the beauty and spirit of their mother. The images that had lightened his heart, his daydreams: gone. Never to be. It was like running his hook through their precious souls. Emma would never forgive him.

Tears coursed down his cheeks, but he stood his ground.

"Killian…" Smee choked out, and Killian swallowed the lump in his throat.

"This is all my doing. I can't allow your forced separation to continue."

"But… Emma. You just got married..."

"Aye." He straightened and forced a smile. "Which is all the more motivation for her to destroy this blasted enchantment and rescue me."

Killian couldn't see Tuliro's reaction to the statement, but he could guess: eye-rolling, unconcern, perhaps a bit of amusement.

"It's what she's best at."

Smee nodded a smile, looking somewhat reassured. But Killian felt far less confident than he sounded. Tuliro _was_ powerful, and judging by the number of statues outside, the scheme had been going on for centuries. If it could be stopped, or defeated, wouldn't someone have figured out a way by now?

Still, if anyone _could_ do it, it was his Swan.

Killian took a shuddering breath, but before he could take a step, Smee grasped his hand and shook it.

"Thank you," he said with heartfelt gratitude. Killian smiled softly and nodded. Then he summoned his courage and took his place in the vacant circle, turning so he could watch the beginning of the long-awaited reunion.

Tuliro _actually_ cracked his knuckles before waving a hand to activate the enchantment. Then he stepped back, content to observe silently.

At first, Killian only felt a gentle tingling in his toes, then his feet and ankles. All too soon, though, the tingling gave way to the worst muscle cramps he had ever experienced, in every part of his feet simultaneously, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from cursing. Next to him, the stone gray was beginning to fade to the chestnut of Casey's hair.

Killian's breathing quickened as the pain moved up his calves. He heard a sharp intake of breath from beside him, and saw Smee's tears start anew.

"Richard?" Smee murmured cautiously. Killian looked at Casey's thawing face, desperate for a distraction. Casey blinked a few times, clearly confused. Then he focused on his father's face.

"Papa Smee?" His voice was barely above a whisper; Killian wondered briefly how he could even talk if his lungs were still stone. Smee grinned through his tears.

"I'm here, son. You're safe now."

Smee touched a hand to his cheek and brushed back some hair. Killian's feet had gone numb; a blessing, for now his knees were feeling like they were attempting to bend themselves in the wrong direction. Casey regained motion in his neck and was able to look around a bit. He immediately noticed Killian standing to his right.

"Captain?"

Killian gave a brief, pained smile. "You all right, mate?"

"I… yeah, I think… so…"

Even as he spoke the words, the man's teeth began to chatter, and he got a dazed look in his eyes.

Smee moved closer to embrace his son, despite how much of him remained stone. "Richard?"

Killian's thighs and hips were in agony now, and though he had resolved not to look, he couldn't stop a glance down to see his feet a dismal, heavy gray. Momentary panic set in, and Killian hiccuped an involuntary sob.

"Smee? You have to tell Emma… please… tell her I love her, and… that I'm sorr…"

Another sob ripped through him, and suddenly, he was weeping openly. Still clutching a shivering Casey, Smee lay a hand on Killian's shoulder.

"I just… want her to be h-happy," Killian stammered. "Tell her… if she can find… that with someone else… Sh-she doesn't h-have to wait…"

He couldn't finish. The prospect of twenty years, alone among the fishes… of what he was doing to Emma, how it would hurt her… it was all too much.

Smee made soothing noises, trying to comfort both men at once. Casey was quiet apart from his trembling; his arms had thawed and were wrapped around his father, though whether it was for reassurance or merely to keep from collapsing, Smee wasn't sure.

As the enchantment took Killian's hook and clenched fist, he tried one last time.

"Smee? I love her. You'll… you'll tell her?"

With a sob of his own, Smee squeezed his captain's shoulder. "Of course I will. But she _knows_. She loves you too. And she'll be fighting with all she has to get you back. I know she will."

A trembling smile was Killian's response, and then his chest was wracked with pain. He gasped and squeezed his eyes shut.

Smee kept hold of his shoulder; standing vigil as the enchantment marched steadily upward, even after the shoulder too was unfeeling stone. He whispered soothing nonsense over Killian's last gasps of pain; heard his final tortured whisper,

"Emma… I'm sorry…"

And then the pirate captain was still.

Smee winced at the anguished stone countenance, then turned his attention to his son, who was now _definitely_ holding on just so he wouldn't fall. Tremors ripped through him in waves, and Smee gripped him tight.

"Will he be okay?" he asked Tuliro worriedly. "Are we… were we too late?"

Tuliro made an unconcerned face. "That's a common reaction to the thawing process. He'll be fine in a day or two. Just get some nourishment in him, and rest. Now. I believe you know the way out?"

Smee gazed again on Killian's statue. He hated leaving him alone with the deranged wizard… but he knew Killian would want him to seek help for Casey. And he had a difficult message to deliver to Emma.


	21. Chapter 21

**_Chapter 21: Torn Asunder_**

Two. There were only two men returning.

Neither one of them was Killian.

Heart pounding, Emma called hoarsely,

"Smee? Where is he?!"

Smee all but dragged a younger man along. The tear-stains on his face terrified her.

" _Smee?!"_

When they reached her side, Smee knelt and gently lay Casey with his head on his lap. Casey clapped the heels of his palms against his eyes in obvious pain. Emma knelt beside them and gripped Smee's sleeve. Smee took a breath.

"Killian... he's all right. But… he has to stay behind."

"What? Why?"

Casey moaned and then began to retch. Smee helped him onto his side, looking up at Emma pleadingly.

"Please, Emma; I'll tell you the whole story, but please, can you help him?"

Emma raised her hands over the shivering man and summoned her magic. But… it seemed to slide off of him somehow, like little beads of mercury. She tried again, harder, doing her best to push away her anxiety for her husband. Still nothing. She shook her head.

"My magic can't help him," she told Smee, who looked about to cry again.

"Then… can you poof us to the Jolly Roger? Get us home?"

"But… I can't leave Killian!"

Seeing she wouldn't budge without some kind of explanation, Smee relented and began a quick summary of the story, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his son's back. Emma fought back tears as she gazed into the darkness of the cave. Smee finished the tale with:

"He… wanted me to make sure to tell you how much he loves you- and that's he's sorry." Smee looked down. "I'm sorry, too. I should never have let him-"

Emma squeezed his shoulder, a look of determination under her anguish.

"It's okay, Smee. He wanted to do this for you; for your son." Her expression darkened. "We'll come back here, get him out of this mess, and bring that bastard of a wizard to justice."

She allowed herself one final longing look in the direction she'd last seen her True Love, then forced herself to focus. Casey needed help. She nodded at Smee and gripped them both tightly. Before poofing them away, she sent a silent promise to Killian that she'd come back to him as soon as she could.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

At Storybrooke General, while waiting for Casey to be stabilized, Smee filled her in on the rest of the details. She couldn't help a few tears at the thought of twenty years without Killian; of all he was willing to sacrifice for his friend. But she didn't indulge her grief for long. They wouldn't allow it. They'd find a way. Killian would be back in her arms in no time, safe and sound, and she'd be able to tell him she was proud of him.

After the obligatory phone calls to her loved ones, Emma asked Regina to come to the hospital. Casey was sedated, Smee by his side, and with his permission, the two ladies got to work gleaning anything they could from the residual enchantment. There wasn't much there, but what they could sense didn't leave Regina feeling very hopeful.

"It's nothing I've ever encountered before," she said pragmatically. "I'm sorry to say this, but I'm not confident the two of us could break it, even together."

Emma sighed, but was unwilling to give up hope so soon. "Maybe we'll have to go and see the actual enchantment ourselves."

"How many beans do you have left?" Regina asked Smee.

"I'm… not sure," he admitted. "But I doubt there's enough for multiple trips back and forth."

Their next step was to consult with Rumplestiltskin. But even after days of research, no one came up with any information on Tuliro, or his unusual enchantment.

On the fourth day without Killian, Emma got word that Casey was awake. So she went to visit, thinking he would maybe have inside knowledge or details to share.

She entered the room with a forced smile. Smee gave her a little wave and addressed his son.

"Richard, this is Emma. The captain's wife."

Emma held out her hand for Casey to shake.

"Pleasure to meet you, Emma; I'm Richard. My father has been telling me about you, and the captain." His smile dimmed, just a little, and he sat back. "I've been wanting to say that I'm sorry it has to be this way. But I'm eternally grateful for what he's done for me."

Emma gave what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "It's okay. We're working on a way to free him."

"I'm glad of it."

She held out a magazine-style pamphlet. "A get-well present for you. It's a project my son Henry has been working on."

" _Welcome to Storybrooke_ ," Casey read as he accepted the gift.

"It kind of goes into the town's history, and things you might need to know, resources if you need help, that kind of thing. Although I'm sure your dad will be able to help with anything you need."

"Thank you. It should serve to while away the time until I'm released."

"Dr. Whale thinks he can be discharged tomorrow, if his blood count is normal," Smee added happily. Emma nodded.

"I'm glad." She found a chair near the door and brought it closer. When she was settled, she studied Casey thoughtfully. "So. I was hoping maybe you could tell us a little bit about Tuliro… If you're feeling up to it."

Casey set the magazine aside, his countenance falling. "I had a feeling you might. And I've been searching my memory for anything that might be useful. But, honestly… the man hardly spoke to me at all; didn't really even bother to explain what was happening when he froze me."

Smee took his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"It was all quite a shock. And then I was waking up with my father and the captain beside me, feeling like Hell itself, if you'll pardon my language."

Emma was hesitant to ask, but she had to know. "What was it like?"

"Being frozen?"

She nodded; he shuddered.

"I wish I could say I was unaware of it. But… it was like a dream, or… actually, like those times you're on either edge of sleep; when you feel you've been awake the whole time but have no idea how hours have actually passed."

Emma swallowed. "Do you… feel things? Pain, fear?"

"A bit. Not pain, exactly; maybe… the urge to move, and frustration when you can't. Fear, when you forget yourself; when you think you'll be stuck forever. You can still dream, but you're never quite sure those dreams aren't somehow… visions of reality." He looked over at Smee with a heartbreaking expression. "You're sure centuries are passing, and your families will be long gone by the time you're released. Or else they will have forgotten you, and you'll still be left alone."

At the tears spilling from Emma's eyes, Casey winced.

"I'm sorry, milady. Perhaps the experience varies for each individual."

Emma gave a weak smile and shook her head. "It's all right, Richard." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "Thank you for your honesty."

She took a breath and reclaimed her determination. "If you think of anything that might help, contact me." Realizing he wouldn't have a phone yet, she turned her gaze to Smee, who nodded.

As she left the hospital, Casey's bleak words echoed in her mind, and it was all she could do not to hear them in Killian's voice.


	22. Chapter 22

**_Chapter 22: A Tortured Template_**

After ten days, Emma was growing desperate. Smee's plant only contained three beans capable of producing a portal, so they couldn't make a journey solely for investigative purposes… unless they wanted to wait a year or however long it took for more beans to mature. Emma wasn't yet ready to accept that as a possibility.

A terse text from Rumplestiltskin ended another restless night in the cold and empty bed. She felt a small flicker of hope at the request for her and Regina to meet him at the Smee household in one hour.

Emma was there in ten minutes.

"I have a plan, but you won't like it," was Rumplestiltskin's greeting when he appeared fifty minutes later, Regina in tow.

"I'll listen to anything at this point," Emma replied. Didn't mean she would have to agree to it.

In response, Rumple knocked calmly on Smee's front door. The man answered shortly, and if he was startled by the three magic wielders on his doorstep, he did a good job of hiding it.

"Any news?" he wondered. Emma just shook her head.

"We'd like to inspect your bean plant, if you'll be so kind…"

Smee looked at Rumple with a shrug. "Of course, but I promise no new pods have sprouted up in the last week."

"That won't be an issue."

Smee stepped aside, allowing them to enter. Casey gave a friendly wave from the kitchen.

Down in the basement, the four gathered before the table containing the plant.

"So let's hear your plan," Emma said warily. "You got a way to duplicate the beans or something?"

"No; three beans are all we will require." Rumple surrounded the entire setup with his magic and lifted it from the tabletop. Smee looked about to protest, but remembered who he was dealing with and changed his mind. "Follow me out to the back yard."

He vanished in his scarlet smoke, leaving the other three mystified. Regina followed with a poof, but Emma took the time to walk with Smee.

Outside, Casey joined them in a ring around Rumple, who allowed the plant to float lightly to the ground.

"This would have eventually been necessary anyway. I can help you keep it pruned so it stays a somewhat manageable size."

With a wave of his hand, a small metal box fell from the back of the pot, and the plant suddenly towered above the rooftop. They all took an involuntary step back. With a few magical adjustments, Rumple arranged the roots below the earth so the beanstalk would stay firmly in place.

"I don't get it," Smee said, gazing at the top of the plant. "This is all going to help Killian somehow?"

" _This_ will," Rumple replied. He held the metallic box for all to see.

"The… compression field?" asked Regina, and the other nodded.

"Precisely."

"Would you please just tell us what you're thinking?" Emma snapped irritably. "I'm too tired to drag it out of you."

"This, Miss Swan, can not only compress space, but time as well. We put it around your petrified pirate, and a year for him passes in a day for us. Twenty days, and we can release him."

Emma frowned. "You're right. I'm not sure I like that plan very much."

"Well, if it's as the wizard says, no harm will come to him. It may not be pleasant, but when it's over, he comes out no worse for wear."

"That still doesn't solve the issue of having to replace him with someone else," Regina pointed out.

"That's the easy part, dearie. We give the wizard a taste of his own enchantment."

Emma had thought of it herself, actually, and had no objection to the poetic justice. She just hated the thought of Killian experiencing twenty years alone as a statue, especially considering Casey's description of the condition. But… what other option was there?

After a long, uncomfortable silence, Emma said,

"We have three portals right now. If you and Regina were to come with me to defeat Tuliro, maybe put him under a sleeping curse or something, then we can try to break the enchantment before the twenty years. If that's not possible… then we'll do it your way. You two come back to Storybrooke, I'll wait the twenty days with Killian and bring him home."

The others nodded. Even Casey and Smee seemed to think it a good plan. Then Casey asked,

"What happens when Tuliro takes on the enchantment? Does it become some sort of self-perpetuating loop? Draining his potential years only to feed them back to him?"

"Interesting point," mused Rumple. "But my guess would be that he would fare no better than all the other unfortunates when no one takes his place after twenty years. And once he's gone, the enchantment dies with him."

"Then let's go," Emma said fiercely. "That cannot happen soon enough."

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Powerful as Tuliro was, he didn't stand a chance against the combined magic of the Dark One, the former Evil Queen, and the savior. He entered the sleeping curse with a sniveling whimper, and Emma was glad of it. Especially once Rumple magically retrieved Killian's statue from the sea floor and it stood shining with salt water within the glass dome.

Emma couldn't look at the expression of utter misery on the stone features. Through tears, she gently stroked a hand over his too-still hair, whispering,

"I'm here now, my love. I'm with you. I won't leave."

"If you would step aside for just one moment…" Rumple requested, more gently than she'd thought him capable of. She stepped back fractionally, sure to stay within view of those lifeless, anguished eyes, even if they _were_ sightless.

Rumple lugged the slumbering wizard into the circle on Killian's left and used magic to hold him upright.

"You may want to observe, in case this doesn't work," Rumple told her, and she reluctantly tore her gaze from Killian. Rumple gave a small gesture to attempt to activate the enchantment. Predictably, nothing happened. Regina and Emma added their magic… but still nothing.

Rumple flung Tuliro aside carelessly and got to work studying the enchantment, with Regina assisting. Emma mostly stood at Killian's side and listened, occasionally adding her magic when requested. Hours passed. The light from above took on a more golden hue as the sun approached the horizon. Finally, Rumple stood back, shaking his head, and he didn't even have to say the words.

"I'm sorry, Miss Swan. But it's impossible, even with the three of us. Your husband's best chance is the time compression."

Emma nodded bravely, chin atremble. Regina put an arm over her shoulders.

"He's made it through worse, remember. And you'll be with him the whole time. That will help, I'm sure."

Emma thanked her with a shaky smile. Rumple quickly set up the field and paused before activating it.

"I'd caution you not to put any part of yourself into the field once it's active. Unlike space compression, I really don't know what having your body parts experiencing two different rates of time would do to you."

Miserable, Emma swallowed and quickly stepped forward to embrace the statue. "I'm sorry, Killian. I wish there were another way. I'll be right out here- don't ever give up hope."

She stepped back reluctantly, and Rumple activated the field.

Nothing visibly changed, but Emma could feel the different sort of hum around Killian through her magic. She wiped her eyes. "Thanks, guys. I… we appreciate your help."

Rumple nodded seriously, and Regina smiled.

"Will you be okay here all by yourself?"

"I'll be fine. And I'm not alone." Emma looked over at Killian sadly.

Rumple showed her how to deactivate the time compression field, and made sure she knew how to enact the enchantment once the switch was possible. Then he said,

"I'd advise turning it off on the twentieth day a few moments before the time we activated it today. Just to be on the safe side."

Emma nodded.

"Good luck," Rumple told her.

"See you in a few weeks," Regina added. Then they poofed away, off to open a portal at a safe distance.

Leaving Emma with nothing to do but imagine Killian's suffering.


	23. Chapter 23

**_Chapter 23: Take Off That Veil_**

Same old nightmare. Again.

Pan was there, and Smee, and the bloody Crocodile. So was Emma. Sometimes Hades would join them, or Captain Silver. Even Liam would make appearances. Whatever the combination, they'd go from hurting him- and those doing the hurting were not always those expected- to hurting Emma. And eventually killing her. And he'd always want to scream, cry, fight his way to her side, and find himself unable to do any of those things.

He only knew it was a nightmare because Emma always came back to die again.

The first several times, it was very real, and he wanted to die with her. But he was frozen. Could not so much as twitch a single muscle.

Between the nightmares… was another nightmare. Because he remembered what he'd done. Left her, broken his promises. Forget nobility, and penance, and all of that. There would be no happy ending to return to.

Usually he would pray that no one was coming. After the twenty years, it would be better to fade to oblivion; finish his cursed long life as his own memorial. Once in awhile, though… he indulged in the fantasy of seeing Emma again. If even from afar. Twenty years older, ever more beautiful, having moved on and found happiness without him.

He never dared hope that she would actually forgive him. _Wait_ for him. Because he didn't want that for her.

When he could think, when not plagued by nightmares, his guilt, his panic over the inability to move or even breathe... He mostly relived all of the horrific things he had done throughout his lifetime. Because why not? Heaven forbid he have a little relief here and there.

Time was even harder to track than it had been in Neverland. What was the absolute minimum that could have passed by now? One year? It had to have been at least a year, right? Definitely six months. No way it was any less than one month.

One hour?

He succumbed to panic again.

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Emma passed the time mostly by talking to him. She never knew if he could hear her. It actually didn't make sense that he _would_. With their time streams moving at such different rates, her words would be immeasurably slow; like, one syllable per day or something ridiculous. But… it helped her to feel better.

She reminisced about how they'd met. Their adventures together. How he had made her feel, even on that first day in his disguise as a blacksmith. How he made her feel _now_ , as her husband, a good man, a good _friend_.

She recalled events of her childhood, good and bad.

She planned for their future, including ever more intricate details as she thought of them. Her desperation for him to feel loved- to know he still had that future with her- made this her go-to subject.

She occasionally made up stories, or retold books she'd read or movies she'd watched. It was funny how hard it was to recall some of the plot points of even her most recent views.

As slowly as the time passed for her, she knew it was infinitely worse for him. So she never left his side.

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Day Twenty was the slowest of them all. Emma seriously wondered if she would have a stroke before the day was done.

Moments before the appointed time, she used her adrenaline to lift Tuliro with her strength alone and carry him to the platform. A few hours into Day One, she'd decided it was creepy to have him listening in, even if he _was_ asleep, so she'd banished him to the back entrance of the castle with an old gunny sack thrown carelessly over his head. She had used her magic from time to time to check on him remotely, knowing he needed to be alive for this very moment.

With trembling hands, she switched off the compression field. The first thing she did was to embrace Killian; it had been torture being in proximity without the comfort of touch. He looked and felt the same as before. The stone didn't appear weathered or anything, which may not have been the case should he have spent the twenty years in the water.

The problem now was that she had no way to tell when twenty years had elapsed exactly. She had tried to calculate the ratio of days to minutes or seconds, but even Rumple wasn't sure if there was an acceleration at the beginning or a deceleration at the end to account for. So the only thing she could do was to attempt to activate the enchantment. Every minute. Again… fail. Again… fail. Again…

After an hour, she wondered if she was doing something wrong. Two hours, and she was sure of it. Four hours had her hyperventilating in panic; five, and she was screaming at Tuliro for his damn ability to thwart her even while asleep.

When it took, sometime in the middle of the night, she almost missed the shimmer that washed over both men. But then she saw a slight change in the color of Killian's hair, and she gasped in relief.

Emma cupped one palm to his cheek and used the other to stroke his hair as it lost its hardness. She felt his cheek warm beneath her skin, and she put on a tearful smile. Then she pressed her lips to his until she felt a faint response. She drew back to watch him blink several times, his brow furrowing, those blue eyes roaming her face.

"S-Swan?" he whispered in disbelief. "Swan?"

"Killian," she grinned back gently. He squeezed his eyes for a moment before again focusing on her face.

"I'm… s-so… s-s-sorry, love…"

The shivering was starting as his shoulders and upper chest began to thaw, and she pressed herself against him. "Shhhhh."

He nuzzled his cheek against hers with a sob.

"It's okay, Killian. You're fine; everything is going to be all right."

"Casey?" he managed to grit out.

"He's fine," she reassured him. "He was pretty sick for a couple days, but now he's perfectly fine, home with Smee."

She felt his weak smile against the side of her face.

"G-good."

Then he tensed, and tried to look past her to his left. She shifted her grip slightly but never stopped the soothing caresses against his skin.

"Tuliro," she explained, and he relaxed.

A blinding white-hot pain flashed behind Killian's eyes, and he brought his newly-thawed hand up to press against them.

"B-b-bloody…"

His teeth were chattering so violently that he gave up on the exclamation. Emma massaged the back of his neck with both hands, saying sorrowfully,

"My magic can't help this. I'm sorry. But as soon as you're free I can take you home, and Dr. Whale is waiting and knows just what to do."

He nodded and nuzzled his head closer against her, his trembling transferring through her and causing her teeth to chatter as well. His lack of even a token protest sparked a small amount of fear in the pit of her stomach, but she reminded herself that Casey had never been in any real danger. Killian would be fine, too. She felt his hook rubbing gently against the small of her back, and he brought his hand down to wrap it behind her head.

She knew his knees had thawed when the weight against her increased. Not long after, she stepped back gingerly, and her husband could drag his feet one by one off the platform in pursuit. She wrapped one arm behind him, knowing it must be hurting the still-present cuts from the whip, but he made no sound. Quickly, Emma poofed Tuliro's statue to the seafloor, then fished the bean from her pocket. She created the portal right then and there, not caring if it destroyed the underwater lair as a result. Then they were on their way home in each other's arms.

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Before Killian could comprehend what had happened, he was lying on a bed, and the lights were too bright and the voices too loud, and they were saying scary and incomprehensible words and poking him with things, and he _hurt_ everywhere, but none of it mattered because his Swan was by his side- unchanged, unaged- and he was safe and she was safe. He couldn't stop searching her face- the face from his dreams only _real_ \- soaking in every detail; looking for traces that this was deception, or worse, another dream... and finding none. Finding, in fact, none of the dreaded accusation or rejection he so richly deserved; only worry. Relief. _Love_.

She disappeared from his field of vision momentarily, and he whimpered her name. He heard her whispering soothingly into his ear, felt her hand holding his in a tight embrace. He squeezed hers back, and only then noticed his uncontrollable trembling. Was he dying?

Emma's face floated back into view, wearing a soft, reassuring smile. He was shivering too much to return it.

"They're going to put you to sleep for awhile so you can get better," Emma explained gently. He wasn't sure if his nod of acknowledgement was even distinguishable, but she was Emma and she read the terror and confusion in his eyes. She leaned close and kissed his forehead, never once faltering in her grip on his hand. "I'm going to stay here the whole time. I won't leave your side, I promise; I'll be here when you wake up." With another kiss, she added, "There's nothing to be afraid of, handsome. Trust me."

She winked. _Gods_ , she was gorgeous. His attempt at a smile must have come across, for she answered brightly and nodded at whomever else was in the room with them.

Killian still couldn't take his eyes off her face, even as his vision started to fade and his mind grew muddled with sleep.

 _She still loved him._

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 **AN: I don't know why "thawing" causes these symptoms, or why magic doesn't work against them. I just wanted it that way :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: This chapter ends in a pretty dark place for Hook. Sorry. Just keep in mind his eventual happy ending :)**

 ** _Chapter 24: All Mortals Envy Me_**

A sharp sting to his wrist tugged Killian toward consciousness. Disoriented, he tried to draw his arm back, thinking it a wasp attack. But then he heard the soothing voice of his beloved as she ran her hand up and down his forearm. He dragged heavy eyelids open and located her smile.

"It's real," he breathed in wonder.

"Sorry to wake you like that," said a nurse from farther down the bedside. "I needed some arterial blood, but we were hoping you'd sleep a little longer."

Killian didn't even acknowledge the statement, his tearful gaze fixed on Emma. "You did it, Swan."

She played with a lock of his hair as she teased,

"Maybe one of these days you'll stop needing me to rescue you so often."

It was meant to make him smile, but instead he dropped his gaze. "Will you forgive me, love?"

With all he had been through lately, including the two days he'd just spent sedated, Emma didn't think he was in the best state for self-chastisement and a serious heart-to-heart. Keeping her tone light, she leaned down and whispered against his face,

"I'll always come for you. Remember?" Then she planted a kiss on his cheek.

"Emma, please."

She wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Killian. It's all right."

"No," he contradicted her. "I broke my vow to you. Less than a season we were married, and I willingly abandoned you."

He was beating himself up over nothing, but Emma realized he wouldn't feel better until he got it all out.

"I knew what I'd be giving up. Worse, what I would be forcing _you_ to give up. I knew exactly how much it would hurt you." Tears of regret and shame tumbled out almost as fast as his words. "I intended to always put your happiness first. And instead, I deliberately took the path that would destroy it."

She'd had enough. "Killian, please stop."

He gave a quiet sob and shook his head. "I wish I could say I had faith you'd save me. But I doubted you, and I'm sorry for that as well. In truth, I entered the enchantment fully expecting it to run its intended course." He closed his eyes for a moment before again meeting her gaze sorrowfully. She cupped her hands to both sides of his face and wiped away his tears.

"Killian. I'm not angry. I'm _proud_ of you."

He blinked in disbelief, and she knew what he was thinking.

"And no, I'm not saying it out of pity or because I'm afraid you're not well enough to hear different. It's the truth. You did the right thing."

At the tremble in his chin, she gave him a sympathetic smile and bent down with a kiss. Then she continued,

"You've been looking for a way to prove yourself a hero, not just someone _aligned_ with the heroes. An act of selflessness. Well, saving Casey was the _definition_ of selfless. It came at the cost of your happiness, and potentially mine; it wasn't an easy thing to do, but it was right."

She kissed him again, and finally saw a spark of hope return to his gaze.

"And you need to stop finding fault in everything you do. Especially when what you're blaming yourself for didn't even happen! Okay?"

The corners of his mouth twitched ruefully. Her own answering grin was bright enough for the both of them.

Though Killian couldn't quite shake the fear that it was all a dream, he could feel himself beginning to relax. Emma… she felt real enough, and _she didn't hate him!_ Was it possible? He lifted arms that were far too heavy and managed to pull her into a weak embrace, noticing for the first time the pain still present in his back. He had forgotten the wounds, with all that had happened since. Still, they were on the mend, and he lay against them now without too much discomfort. His heart swelled that much more that his Swan hadn't healed them while he was unable to object.

"Emma, I… I can't properly express how much you mean to me. You are _everything_."

She drew back to meet his weary gaze.

"I love you too, Killian."

One more kiss, and then she was pulling herself upright, against his protestations.

"Go back to sleep now, handsome."

"But I want to hear the tale of your daring rescue." His words were slurring as he fought his exhaustion.

She took his hand in both of hers. "You'll be in here for another few days. There'll be plenty of time for that later."

Despite himself, Killian drifted off in minutes, basking in the forgiveness for which he'd yearned so desperately those twenty long years.

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 _~Neverland: 3 months, 3 days before escape~_

The landing party- the largest Hook had ever allowed on the island- assembled on the beach, well-armed and provisioned, drilled on the plan of attack and ready for action. Hook nodded at the first group, who set off determinedly in search of Lost Boys to distract. Moments later, a second group did likewise. Hook watched Smee out of the corner of his eye. The other man hadn't said two words to him since that night in the tavern, aside from terse acknowledgements of his orders. It was unlike him, and Hook found he almost missed the inane chatter; certainly it could have been useful as a distraction from the thought of what lay ahead…

Hook knew that if the pirates were ever to succeed in their quest to soak the bean, it must be kept secret from Pan. Which meant a diversion. Unfortunately for Hook.

Smee had been tasked with keeping the bean safe; a monumental leap of faith for the pirate captain. But with his reputation as an idiot, Smee would be the least likely for Pan to suspect of anything underhanded. So Smee, along with a few others Hook especially trusted, would be journeying to the spring while trying to look like a normal foraging party.

Before the third group took off, Hook felt a familiar hated presence summon bile to his throat. From just behind him came a whisper,

"One short, aren't you, darling?"

Hand clenched so tightly his arm shook, Hook replied,

"Whatever do you mean, demon?"

Pan traced a finger along the hairline at the nape of Hook's neck. "It seems there's one less manning your beloved ship."

Hook turned and swatted at the touch, but predictably, the boy stayed just out of reach. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

"Captain," the boy scoffed. "We both know you're sharper than that."

He appeared at Hook's side just long enough for a quick caress to the pirate's temple, easily avoiding the slashing hook in response.

"That 'sharp' enough for you?"

Pan grabbed him by the hair and pulled him backward a step until their bodies met. Shuddering with revulsion, Hook struggled, practically tearing his head from Pan's grip.

"Tell me what happened, pirate, or things get a lot worse for you."

Hook glared at his nemesis, panting. "He's dead. Lost him in a raid… all on account of your bloody cravings."

Pan smirked. Then he shook his head. "No… nice try… but no." His face became deadly sober. "He was alive when my magic lost its grip on him. I want to know how that's possible."

"Losing your grip?" Hook taunted. "That sounds serious."

With a growl, Pan barreled into the pirate from behind, sending him flying face-first into the ground. The boy straddled his back, pressing one knee into his spine, and held his head with both hands. Hook dug frantically at the fine sand as it filled his mouth and nostrils. Every handful pushed aside was immediately replaced in small, cascading landslides. A few of Hook's more courageous men drew their weapons and advanced, but Pan easily pushed them back with blasts of magic. Finally, the boy sat back and allowed Hook to turn his head. As he choked out sand and sucked in air, the captain desperately signaled for his men to leave. But they were frozen in shock and fear.

Hook coughed once more and hissed,

"Release me, demon. I've spoken truth. My men will corroborate for you."

Several heads bobbed in agreement, and there were murmurs in support of Hook's lie. Hook used a sand-coated hand to wipe at the sand sticking to his face, and only managed to get grit in his eyes. Pan leaned forward until his hands rested on the ground on either side of the pirate's head. Hook gasped when the demon sank his teeth into the flesh between his neck and shoulder.

"Smee, go…" Hook ordered, a pleading note unavoidable in his tone. Pan raised a hand and used magic to ensnare the first mate.

"Smee, stay," Pan corrected. With horror, Hook watched vines snake their way around Smee's extremities, as well as the two men flanking him. "D'you know why this was such a mistake?" Pan murmured into Hook's ear. Hook let out a shuddering breath and shook his head slightly.

"First is the lie. Not such a big thing, I suppose. Lies are like riddles. And I enjoy riddles. I _will_ figure out what happened, and how you were able to defy me. And there will be hell to pay."

He magicked the hook into his hand and began tracing the tooth marks with its tip, not quite hard enough to break the skin; just on the very edge that had Hook grimacing in anticipation of the first puncture.

"But you forgot, 'dearie.' Or you weren't paying attention to the terms of our agreement, back when I first let you take a voyage for me. Remember? It was all or nothing. Everyone goes, and _everyone_ comes back."

"He's _dead_ ," came Hook's vehement protest, muffled slightly by the arm near his face.

"Then you should have brought back his corpse." Pan sighed and pressed himself closer. Hook screwed his eyes shut, frantic breaths whistling through his nose, jaw working furiously. "Now I can't trust you anymore. You've just proven yourself to be what I always suspected you were: a dirty, treacherous pirate. So that's how I'll treat you, from now on."

He sat up, still astride Hook. The pirate tried to struggle onto his elbows, to roll or crawl away. But Pan effortlessly pinned him with his blasted magic.

"You're not getting off that easy," Pan scolded. "Weren't you even listening just now? You have a lot to atone for. But don't worry; I have loads of ideas." He glanced at the three trussed-up pirates and chuckled evilly. "Starting with this: I think it's high time we had an audience, don't you?"

Again, Hook was choking for air, for an altogether different reason this time.

Pan's last words before the five of them vanished from the beach were:

"This is going to be a _really_ fun game."


	25. Chapter 25

**_Chapter 25: My Utter Contempt for You_**

The next few times Killian woke, he was far less aware of his surroundings, spending frantic seconds searching for Emma before relaxing back to sleep in her presence.

But the following morning, she woke to a quiet grumble that sounded much more like the man she loved. She sat up stiffly in her chair and smirked at the disgruntled look on his face.

He brightened at the sight of her, then plastered the scowl back on.

"What the bloody hell _is_ all of this, anyway?"

He indicated the IV and other sensors and lines that disappeared under his gown, and she gave him a patient smile.

"You've been here how many times now? And it still confuses you?"

"Aye. I've yet to glean the value in attaching bits of plastic to invalids and preventing them from resting comfortably."

Emma got up and stretched, reaching for the control that would raise the head of his bed. "Do you really want me to bore you with what few details I know, or would you rather kiss me good morning?"

He immediately dropped the grumpy pirate act and donned the smoldering scoundrel. "I didn't realize such a service was on offer."

"Only in the deluxe rooms."

She leaned over him and they shared in the joy of each other's company. When they separated, Killian smiled softly.

"Good morning, love."

She caught the slight wince when he settled back against his pillows. "How do you feel this morning?"

"Markedly improved over yesterday. If yesterday... did indeed occur as I remember it." Killian gave her a look of timid hope. She stroked his cheek.

"That depends on what you remember, I guess."

"I remember a certain lovely lady doling out forgiveness I could never deserve. Also some nonsense about heroism, a promise of storytelling… and most importantly, my true love beside me when I needed her most."

Emma smiled tenderly. "Sounds about right."

"Thank you," he said seriously. "For… well, all of it."

Her answer was another kiss.

"So then, Swan. Story time?"

She shrugged. "If you're feeling up to it."

He nodded and patted the space on the left side of his bed. Emma gingerly climbed up and snuggled into his side. Then she proceeded to tell him the story of his rescue: how hopeless it had seemed, how close they came to running out of ideas, but how they'd refused to give in. How she would have kept looking for 19.997 years if she'd had to, just to spare him one day of the enchantment. She finished with a regretful apology.

"I'm sorry we had to leave you as a statue for the whole time. I wish we could have found a better way."

Gently, Killian rested his head against hers. "That's nothing, love. Don't even think of it. I am beyond blessed to have you here with me, our future intact. And I owe it all to you."

He didn't try to assure her that he hadn't felt the passage of time, Emma noticed. But she didn't want to force him to talk of it if he wasn't ready.

"Well, and some to Regina," she pointed out. "And Smee, and Rumplestiltskin."

Killian groaned. "If you insist." Then he grinned. "So Smee has ended up with a genuine beanstalk behind his house?"

With a smirk, Emma replied,

"That's right."

"That should turn into a lucrative business for him," Killian mused.

"If he can keep it alive."

"I think the greater threat would be crocodile infestations."

Emma unconsciously stroked her hand along his stump. "I think he's really changed for the better this time."

"You'll never entirely convince me of that," Killian muttered darkly.

"Never is a long time."

"Don't I know it."

Just then, the door slid open and in bustled Whale.

"Look who's awake," he remarked.

"Not entirely by choice," Killian shot back. Emma practically glowed at the familiar dynamic; Killian was definitely on the mend.

Ignoring the comment, Whale wrote down some readings off Killian's monitors, asking,

"How are you feeling, Hook?"

"Surprisingly well, given the circumstances."

"That's good." Whale shone a light into his eyes and then briskly tossed his blankets aside. Killian gave a small growl of protest. Emma pushed herself up to get out of Whale's way. "Just checking your internal organs," the doctor explained, pressing none-too-gently on Killian's abdomen. "You're awfully tense."

"Cuz it bloody well hurts," Killian complained. Whale finished his exam and readjusted the blankets.

"Today is about eating and sleeping. Nothing strenuous. I want your electrolytes closer to normal and your red count up before you can go home."

"My what and what, mate?"

"The good news is," Whale said, ignoring the question, "it looks like the infection in your back is finally subsiding. I'll take another look when I come back tonight, and we'll probably keep you on oral antibiotics for at least a week once you're discharged, but I think we're out of the woods there. Oh, and the 'stitches…'" he added in a disgusted tone. "Can probably come out in a few days' time."

"Don't trouble yourself," Killian said with an obviously fake smile. "I survived three centuries' wounds without the aid of your fancy contraptions."

"I cannot fathom how." Whale rolled his eyes. " _Rest,"_ he emphasized. " _Eat."_ He turned to Emma. "Don't let him leave the bed or take anything out."

She smiled. "I'll watch him."

As Whale was leaving, Killian sighed, saying,

"It's not the villains we have to watch out for, Swan."

The physician said nothing. Only closed the door. And maybe added a small notation to Killian's chart.

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Killian's energy flagged soon thereafter. Unfortunately, he spent the morning in an uncomfortable war between physical exhaustion and mental restlessness. Every time he got close to relaxing, a surge of adrenaline spiked through him, and he had to move just to prove to his brain that he still could. That he _wasn't_ stone, not even _close_ ; that it wasn't possible, and that itch was _not_ the tingling of the enchantment. He could open his eyes and everything would be fine: no hint of speckled gray anywhere on his body.

Emma noticed the restlessness, of course. And she tried to help with her magic; sending soothing waves of it through his body, cooling his nerves, settling his muscles. When that didn't help, she lay with him, speaking in low tones, and the vibration and feel of her breath on his skin helped to center him somewhat. That was the closest he came to actual sleep. But then Room Service brought his lunch, and he snapped back into weary wakefulness.

Eating didn't hold much appeal, but he knew it would help him regain his strength, and probably balance the whatever-it-was that Whale was so worried about. His reward for choking down the unappetizing meal was a proud smile from Emma. And that helped some.

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When Whale returned that evening to check Killian's progress, he was the model of professionalism. Killian, for his part, managed to abstain from any death threats. Emma was proud.

His frigid responses to the physician, however, meant he wasn't reporting his true discomfort. So Emma took that duty upon herself.

"He had a lot of trouble sleeping today. Is there anything you can prescribe to help that, at least for tonight?"

Whale looked questioningly at Killian. "Are you hurting?"

"Not particularly," the pirate replied grudgingly. "It's mainly due to… mental restlessness."

"Ah. Anxiety, bad dreams, that kind of thing."

"Aye."

Emma could tell how badly he wanted to be defensive about it. But he restrained himself. Whale thought about it and then said,

"I'll order a light sedative for tonight, and we'll see how it goes."

"That would be much appreciated."

"A session or two with Dr. Hopper could also be helpful."

"You and the bloody cricket have a reciprocal agreement, mate?"

Whale rolled his eyes. "I don't know why I bother."

He wrote an order for the medication and then left without a word. Emma called out her thanks as he went.

"Well. That went… surprisingly civilly."

"I didn't want to give him the pleasure of whatever reaction he was hoping for."

It was Emma's turn to roll her eyes. "Big of you."

"And you said it yourself, Swan. He's my jailor in this place. The less I antagonize him, the sooner I can leave."

She smirked. "Not sure that's what he bases his medical decisions on, but if it keeps you out of trouble, you keep right on believing it."

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 **AN: If you feel like you're missing something in the middle there... well, you're right. I cut out a scene that I'm not sure I want to share; for one thing, because it doesn't necessarily move the story along (although there is a bit of Killian sharing his trauma with Emma over the Pan business.) But, also, I'm still kind of ashamed of the things that I like, and feel like it shouldn't be in a somewhat "normal" fic :] I MIGHT decide to post a few "deleted scenes" once the story is complete. Maybe as bonus chapters at the end? We'll see.**


	26. Chapter 26

**_Chapter 26: Leave it to Our Fearless Leader_**

 _~Neverland: 1 month prior to escape~_

Smee furtively approached the grumbling group of pirates as they gathered their packs.

"Where are you headed, gentlemen?" he asked in what he hoped was a confident tone. Cecco threw him a jaundiced look.

"To the ship," he announced. "We've had enough of this blasted jungle. We're off, and we're going to finally use that bloody bean to be rid of this curse for good."

A few murmurs of support greeted his pronouncement. Smee scowled.

"What about the captain?"

Cecco shrugged. "Dead, in all likelihood."

Smee shook his head. "He's not dead. We just need to keep searching. We'll find him eventually."

"It's been _months_ , mate," whined Jukes. "He's either dead or found his own way off."

"Months? How do you know?"

"Got meself a fancy timepiece," Jukes replied, digging out a golden pocketwatch. "Bloody useful invention it is. 'Course, you gotta remember to wind it, or it'll stop on ya."

Smee waved it off. "Even so. We aren't leaving till we get him back."

Cecco snarled. "And how do you propose to stop us, mate?"

Smee shrank back, looking for backup among the nearby trees. "Well, for one thing, _I'm_ the only one who knows where the bean is."

"Gone and hidden it, have you?"

"I did."

Cecco leered as he ran his hand along the flat of his blade. "I have a feeling it won't be too hard to draw that secret from you."

Smee swallowed. The half dozen other men in the group were looking on with interest, but none seemed in a hurry to join Cecco in his threats.

"I have Starkey and Mullins on my side," Smee squeaked as he took a few more paces backwards. "Once we get the captain back, he won't be happy to hear of your treachery."

Cecco rolled his eyes, but stopped his advance. "It's a fool's errand. The three of you are just wasting our time."

Smee straightened his clothes, trying to regain some dignity and authority. "Good thing we have so much of it, then."

Cecco grumbled and sheathed his weapon. He gestured at the rest of the group, who continued preparations to row back to the Jolly Roger. "Do what you like, mate. _We're_ through. You can tell the rest of your pointless search parties they're welcome to take their ease aboard ship with us. Starks and Mullsey will change their tune eventually. Then that bean will be ours… one way or another."

He gave Smee a dangerous look before stomping over to the rowboat. Smee scowled at his back, muttering,

"Traitors."

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"You feel up to having visitors this morning?"

Killian groaned inwardly at the thought. His grogginess from last night's medication hadn't been helped by Whale's early morning progress check, and he hardly felt himself presentable for anyone but Emma. At his hesitation, Emma said,

"Just Smee and Casey for now, although you should know that everyone else is dying to see you, too. I thought we should start small and see how it goes. But if you'd rather wait…"

"It's all right, love. I would like to see Casey safe and sound, to remind myself of the 'light at the end of the tunnel,' I think is the expression."

She smiled radiantly. "Yep. And that's what I thought, too. I'll let them know you agreed."

A fitful doze occupied his time until their arrival. Smee alerted Emma when they were outside so that she could warn Killian and situate his bed for receiving company. Killian was grateful, for while he'd long ago lost any shame in front of Smee, Casey was less well-known and therefore presented more of a cause for anxiety. Killian tucked his stump beneath the blanket. There was no reason to feel the need to hide his weaknesses anymore; he knew that. And it wasn't like his crew had never seen it without the brace before. But… it was still uncomfortable to bare it before anyone other than family and close friends.

Both Smee and his son were a bit timid as they entered, as if afraid to invade his space.

"Hi," cringed Smee with an awkward little wave. Killian found a smile that was more energetic and welcoming than he felt.

"Smee. And Master Casey. Come in, mates."

They stepped cautiously to the foot of his bed. Smee held his hat in his hands, his hair a ridiculous frizz without it.

"How are you doing?" Smee asked with genuine concern. Killian grimaced a sigh.

"Progressing, slowly." Killian turned his attention to Casey, who appeared ready to flee the moment his former captain noticed him. "And you, mate?"

"Shipshape, sir."

Killian nodded. "Glad to hear it. And how are you taking to life on land?"

Casey shrugged. "It's an adjustment. But not an unwelcome one. Storybrooke is a nice place."

"Aye."

After a beat, Smee nudged his son, saying,

"We brought you something."

Casey sidled forward and held out a small, translucent box. Killian recognized it as a music disc like the ones Emma kept in her yellow vehicle.

"My thanks," Killian said politely as he accepted the gift. Smee hastened to explain.

"I hope you don't mind… I took Casey to see the Jolly Roger, and we had a thought. It can be… hard to rest in this place, and… well, we thought maybe some familiar background noise would help."

Casey gestured at the disc with a shy grin. "That circle of plastic contains sounds from the past!"

Smee nodded proudly. "We made a recording from inside your cabin, both during the day and at night. The surf, the gulls, the creak of the ship herself. If you have a CD player, you could listen to it and pretend you were aboard."

Killian's smile was genuine and grateful. "That's genius, mate. Bloody brilliant. Thank you."

"Good idea," Emma agreed. "I can play it on my laptop."

Both men looked proud at the praise. Casey returned to his father's side, and Killian handed the box to Emma. Then Killian took a breath.

"Listen, Casey, I… I have to apologize for what I did to you. It was selfish, and wrong, and I'm sorry."

Casey nodded slowly. "I… do appreciate that, sir. I can't say I didn't resent it, or even that I didn't hate you for it." He looked a little guilty at the admission, continuing hurriedly. "You took me from my mates; my father; without warning, and presumably forever. And I couldn't fathom what I had done to deserve it."

Killian winced and shook his head. "Nothing, mate. You were the first to come to mind, and that was it. I never found any fault with you; please don't think that."

With a gulp, Casey continued. "Thank you, sir. It's good to hear that."

Killian let a beat elapse, then admitted,

"I've been attempting to put right whatever wrongs I've committed. There are far too many. I don't expect forgiveness. Just know that I deeply regret what I've done."

Casey looked at Smee, then back at Killian. His face was somber; pained. But he did nod.

"Thank you. I do appreciate the honesty. But more than that- of far more worth to me- is what you've done to make it right. I owe you my life, and what's more, you put my family's needs above your own. So… thank you, Captain. My forgiveness is not gratitude enough. But it's all I have to give."

Smee was nodding vigorously. "And same here."

Killian looked from one man to the other, seeing their earnest expressions and feeling quite unworthy. "It was the very least I could do, and no more than my duty."

He gave a tired, tentative smile, and Casey stepped forward with his hand extended. They shook in mutual appreciation. Smee was quick to follow suit, trying hard to disguise how close he was to tears. Then they both stepped back, and Casey said,

"Well, we'd better allow you to return to your convalescence."

With a small wince, Killian replied,

"Aye, that may be for the best. But thank you for the visit, and for the thoughtful gift. I believe I can rest easier now."

Hesitantly, Casey said,

"I hope so. And Captain… if you ever feel the need to… discuss your experience, I would be a willing audience."

"Likewise, Casey."

After polite farewells, the men left, and Emma watched Killian's face as he looked at the door for a long time after.

"What?" she finally asked. He turned to her, eyebrow raised.

"'What' what, love?"

"You look perplexed."

He sighed. "The residents of this town are far too quick to forgive, even the newest ones. It's still unfamiliar after spending the majority of my life refusing to consider forgiving my enemies."

"And yourself," she added.

"Aye. And especially myself," he admitted, pulling her close. "Fortunately… I have beside me the best example to strive towards."

She returned his embrace, but said,

" _Best?_ I don't know that I'd go _that_ far."

"Aye, _best_. Because of your infinite grace for this unworthy soul."

Emma snuggled closer. "Someday I'll actually convince you of your worth."

"If my Swan makes it her mission to do so, I may yet stand a chance." He kissed the top of her head. Then he gestured toward the table. "Now then, love, if you'd be so kind, I'd very much like to hear the compacted disc recording of my _other_ lovely lady."

She grinned up at him. "Only if it means you'll _actually_ get some rest."

"That, darling, cannot be guaranteed; however, I promise to do my utmost, barring interruption by well-wishers, kitchen staff, or lackeys with sharp implements with which to stab me."

She smirked. "You really want to get out of here, don't you?"

"I believe I've made that _quite_ clear."

She ruffled his hair before standing up. "We'll see what Dr. Whale says on his rounds tonight."

Killian let out a groan and closed his eyes. As the wonderfully soothing sounds of his ship filled the room, he couldn't help muttering,

"I never thought I'd miss the predicament of having only Smee to look after me."

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In the end, Killian managed to convince a reluctant Whale to discharge him early. Something in his blood still concerned the physician, but Killian felt much better and was entirely fed up with hospital life.

There were certain instances when he didn't mind slipping back into his Hook persona.

Emma did promise she would help him with the half-dozen prescriptions he was sent home with, and drag him back for far too many follow-up appointments. But it was all worth it to be back in their house… in their bed… in her arms.

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 **AN: If anyone is interested, I chose a pirate who could theoretically be Casey. I don't _think_ any of them are specifically named besides Smee. He's in** **"The Crocodile," with about 28 minutes remaining, in the scene where Rumpelstiltskin reveals himself to be the Dark One and Killian says "Even gutter rats have more manners than you just displayed." If you can tear your eyes away from Killian for a minute (hard, I know!), Casey could be the pirate standing to Killian's left, with long hair, wearing the yellowish head cover with dangly things on it. And weird spotted boots! :D He doesn't necessarily look a lot like Smee, but he's pretty young. I could see him being in his early 20s, where Smee could be late 30s, having been fairly young himself when he and Casey's mother conceived. I don't know if he's in any other episodes (they probably aren't that concerned with continuity of extras!)**


	27. Chapter 27

**_Chapter 27: I've Reached Me Peak_**

 _~Neverland: Escape Day~_

At first, Smee thought Hook was dead.

His cage hung from a tall bough, barely visible among the foliage. Nowhere near the other pens where Pan kept his pets, like that Wendy girl. Miles from there, really, in a random corner of jungle, where one could easily pass unaware only meters to the right or left. That is, if it weren't for the stench. Waste, blood… decay. Smee didn't know how the two Lost Ones acting as guards could stand it. Although they didn't put up much of a fight; maybe they couldn't.

Smee and the three others in his search party wasted no time lowering the cage to the jungle floor. While it certainly appeared as if Pan had lost interest in this particular toy, the pirates had had enough first-hand experience with the little wretch's unpredictability that they were taking no chances. They needed to retrieve their captain as quickly as possible, get him back to the ship, and leave the cursed island immediately.

The cage settled to the ground with an unfortunate thump. Smee winced, anticipating some sort of pained reaction from the man inside, but Hook lay silent and still. Corpse-like. Neither did he so much as flinch when Starkey used his cutlass to hack away at the sturdy ropes holding the cage together, sending shards and splinters of wood onto Hook's naked form.

Smee squinted as he stared intently at Hook's chest. If the pirate was breathing, it was far too shallow for Smee to see from that distance. They might be too late.

The cage door fell open, and Starkey crouched at the opening. He gently grasped Hook under his shoulders and slid him out onto the leaf litter and dirt. Their captain remained completely limp.

"He's warm, at least," reported Starkey. Smee joined him at Hook's side, pressing fingers to Hook's carotid. Grimly, he announced,

"He's still alive, but his pulse is weak. We need to get him out of here now."

One of the other pirates spread a blanket out beside Hook, and Starkey carefully rolled him onto his side while Smee checked his back for any heavily bleeding wounds. Thankfully, he appeared to be free of recent serious injury, although his person was marked with several older cuts and bruises. Smee and Starkey then wrapped the blanket around him securely. Smee remarked,

"Good thing the weather's been warm, or he'd have probably frozen by now."

"Bloody Pan," Starkey agreed. Without further conversation, he lifted Hook and draped him over his shoulder, hiding a grimace at how easily that was accomplished. Pan had obviously been providing Hook just the bare minimum to keep him from starving to death.

The trek back to their rowboat was tense but uneventful. Either Pan truly had tired of his plaything, or he and his Lost Ones were off distracted on another part of the island. Either way, Smee could have wept with relief when they finally had Hook safely stowed aboard the boat and the crew of five were rowing steadily over the moonlit waves.

A shocked and guilty silence met the group when they boarded the Jolly Roger. The pirates milled around uncomfortably, desperate for any task that would demonstrate their loyal support for their unconscious captain. Smee finally had to push several men out of the way so that Starkey had a clear path below.

Starkey lay his captain gently on the bed in the Captain's Quarters, then turned to Smee. "What do you need?"

"Water," replied Smee decisively. "Warm for washing and cool for drinking. Maybe some broth later, if I'm able to get him to swallow. And tell the crew to weigh anchor."

Starkey raised an eyebrow. "Thought you hid the bean."

"So I did." Smee winked conspiratorially, and a slow grin split Starkey's features.

"You stashed it aboard the ship?"

"Well, I could hardly keep it safe on the island, now could I?"

"Fair point, although it leaves one wondering how you managed to protect it on a ship you were hardly ever aboard."

Smee only winked again. Starkey left with a bemused shake of his head. After a quick confirmation that Hook still drew breath, Smee made his way to one of the drawers along the wall. Memories of that horrific night three months ago threatened to overwhelm him as he retrieved the hook that had been so viciously removed by Pan. Now cleaned of the blood, the steel shone its usual menacing glint atop leathers also left behind: once he'd finally grown bored with the novelty of his audience- not nearly soon enough by anyone's standards- the imp had disappeared with only Hook himself. Leaving behind three stunned, thoroughly traumatized pirates, still bound in vines, and the pieces of Hook's clothing strewn haphazardly among the bushes.

Smee shuddered, pulling his mind back to the present.

Hook probably didn't realize Smee knew the secret of his safe. He'd likely disapprove severely. But it was the perfect hiding place for the bean. Even with their captain gone, and presumed dead by most, the rest of the crew had still held a healthy fear of trespassing in the Captain's Quarters. And none of them knew of the safe; that was a certainty.

Smee used the hook's key to unlock it and quickly grabbed hold of the bean, careful to leave all other contents untouched. He had just locked it and returned to Hook's side when Starkey arrived with his requested water.

"We're underway," Starkey informed him. "Ready for a portal whenever you are."

Smee held up the bean between forefinger and thumb. Starkey took it, wide-eyed.

"It's a bleedin' puzzlement," he reacted in wonder. Then he glanced at Hook, and back at Smee. "Enchanted Forest?"

Smee nodded, heartache causing his throat to constrict. Three, four months… however long it had been… the trail had to be cold, if there ever was one to begin with. But the Enchanted Forest was a bloody sight better than Neverland.

"You going to be all right, matey?"

Smee blinked, startled. Then he realized Starkey was offering assistance with Hook. He had no clue about Casey; none of them did.

"Yes, thanks. Just focus on getting us out of here; I'll do my best for the captain."

Starkey gave a quick nod, saying,

"I've no doubt you will."

He disappeared upstairs again, and Smee busied himself with the task at hand. He dipped a ladle into the drinking water and perched on the edge of the bed. Pulling Hook to lean awkwardly against his torso, he gently supported his head and drizzled some water into his mouth. To Smee's surprise and relief, Hook was able to swallow it down, despite seeming to still be completely out of it. Smee repeated the process, bit by bit, until the ladle was almost empty. At that point, the terrifying dizziness and watery darkness through the cabin's portholes told him of the ship's passage to the Enchanted Forest. The remainder of the ladle's contents splashed crazily all over Hook's chest.

When the motion of the Jolly Roger was reduced to gentle bobbing, and bright sunlight streamed through the windows, Smee gingerly crawled out from behind his captain. He arranged the pillows comfortably and then dipped a rag in the bucket of warm water. This he used to begin the long process of cleaning the dirt and dried blood from Hook's face, neck, and chest. He paid special attention to the countless inflamed nicks in the skin. None appeared serious, although a couple began to bleed with his ministrations.

Smee cleaned Hook's arms and abdomen, then decided to move to his back. He gently rolled the captain onto his side, facing the wall, and scrubbed from the back of his neck downwards. He was just dabbing at a deeper gash on Hook's lower back when he was startled by his captain flinching weakly away from his touch.

"No," he thought he heard Hook moan, voice a mere whisper. Smee dropped the rag and stood, placing a hand on Hook's shoulder.

"Captain? Sir, it's me… it's Smee. Heh-heh, remember that one?"

A slight shudder passed beneath his fingertips, but Hook's eyes remained closed.

"You're safe now, sir. We've escaped Neverland. See- it's sunny outside."

But Hook made no reaction. Smee touched his cheek, trying to elicit another response: nothing. He sat back down and resumed his work.

Hook remained quiet even through Smee's gentle care of his more sensitive areas. Through the stitches applied to several deeper wounds. In fact, the only other sign of awareness came when Smee discovered his badly bruised and swollen left ankle- definitely broken. Smee's centuries of experience had taught him the trick to realigning fractures, which he utilized without much difficulty. A groan, a small whimper, then Hook was gone again.

Well, that was probably for the best; at that moment, anyway.

Smee had just finished up and was intending to force more water into Hook when Starkey knocked and then entered.

"We're in open ocean," he reported. "We've set course for our best guess of where land might be. May take some time, but we're well-provisioned." He glanced over at Hook. "How is the captain?"

"I think… he'll probably pull through, if we can get enough fluids in him."

"Tough one, he is," Starkey remarked, with not-quite-concealed fondness.

"He is," echoed Smee.

"Cook's working on the broth. Let us know if there's anything else we can assist with."

"Do you… do you think it worked?" Smee lowered his voice, despite the unlikelihood of Hook hearing or comprehending. "Are we really free?"

Starkey licked his lips in nervous contemplation. "I suppose the only way to know is if Pan is still able to recall us."

Smee shivered. "That would not be pleasant for any of us."

"Indeed."

And Hook would likely bear the brunt of Pan's rage. Although given his current state, his suffering would probably not last long.

"Best not dwell on it," Starkey advised. "I reckon if we make it a week, we're in the clear."

It would be a _long_ week.

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 _~Post-Neverland: Day 3 (Night)~_

A frightened whimper from the bed startled Smee out of slumber. He choked on a snore and fumbled for his dagger, which clattered noisily to the floorboards. Smee looked around wildly, searching for the threat. The lantern burned low, and he cursed his decision to procrastinate refilling it with oil. At least the full moon offered its own bit of light through the portholes.

Hook vocalized again; part terror, part pleading. He shifted weakly under his blanket, and his moan quickly became one of anguish. Smee shot to his feet, the chair beneath him screeching discordantly. With a gasp, Hook's eyes flew open and he failed an attempt to sit.

"Sorry," Smee whined. "Didn't meant to startle you."

Panting against the panic, Hook squinted in the darkness. "Bloody hell," he hissed. "Smee?"

Smee stumbled to the table and filled a beaker with water. "Aye, Captain. Only me."

Hook shifted again and laughed a groan at the renewed pain flaring in his ankle. "I don't recall offering an invitation to share my quarters." His voice was guttural; his throat parched. "Just how drunk was I?"

Smee perched on the edge of the bed, offering the water as he carefully said,

"Actually, you've been ill. For a few days, now."

Hook accepted the beaker with a trembling hand and managed a few swallows before he started to spill. He cursed and let his head fall back on the pillows.

"That better be all for now, anyway," Smee stated, gently retrieving the water. "You'll want to try and keep it down this time."

Eyes closed, Hook raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I'd prefer rum."

"I know you would. But that would only make you sicker."

"What've I done to my bloody ankle? Feels as if it's been stomped on by an ogre."

"Just a small fracture, sir. Try and keep still. I have it splinted and bandaged- should heal up in a month or two."

"Bloody hell," Hook groaned again. Then he opened his eyes, tilting his head back, seeming to taste the air. "This… isn't Neverland."

Smee shook his head. "No, sir. You're right. We're at anchor off the coast of the Enchanted Forest."

Hook turned a questioning gaze on his first mate. Smee tried an enthusiastic smile.

"The bean worked! At least, as far as we can tell. I mean… the portal was viable, obviously."

Hook's weary confusion was apparent even before he shook his head. "What are you on about, mate?"

"Don't… don't you remember, sir? The… the bean you… acquired. To free us from Neverland."

A look of pure astonishment flooded Hook's countenance at that. "Free? We're… free of that cursed place? Truly?"

Smee grinned softly as he nodded. Hook's eyes roamed the shadows, as if searching for a physical manifestation of comprehension. Smee averted his own gaze when he saw tears pooling behind the captain's exhaustion-darkened eyelids.

Finally, Hook scowled, and scoffed,

"About _bloody_ time."

He swiped his hand over his eyes as Smee gave a rueful snort.

"More water, sir? Or would you like to try some broth?"

Hook extended his arm toward the beaker and wiggled his fingers. Smee surrendered the water and then helped arrange his pillows so he was sitting more upright. Hook took a drink and made a face.

"Tastes like the bloody jungle."

"Sorry. We'll replace it soon enough. Some of the men are actually ashore as we speak."

"Hope they remember the rum," Hook muttered.

"I think that's pretty high on everyone's list," Smee assured him. He took the beaker from Hook, intending to refill it. When he stood, he inadvertently kicked Johnny Corkscrew, which still lay where he'd dropped it. He cursed, the dagger went skittering across the cabin, and he just barely avoided an awkward tumble to the floor. Hook snorted wry amusement.

"I can always rest easier knowing I have you to stand guard."

Smee sighed, knowing the punchline was yet to come. "Really?"

"Aye. Any would-be assassin will either trip over your sprawled form, or give themselves away with their laughter."

"Glad to be of service," Smee mumbled. Hook gritted his teeth and attempted to gingerly reposition himself more comfortably, but gave up quickly. He again rubbed at weary eyes, waiting for the throbbing in his ankle to subside a bit. Waving away Smee's offering of water, he growled,

"Wake me when I'm allowed rum again."


	28. Chapter 28

**_Chapter 28: To the Ship!_**

Two days after being released from the hospital, a text message from Smee took Killian by surprise. The only explanation he could come up with for how Smee had acquired his phone's number was via Emma. Perhaps she'd also informed him of Killian's discharge, for he was inquiring about a possible sailing excursion with Casey. Killian wasn't opposed to the idea - when _would_ he be, honestly?- but Swan and definitely Whale would advise against it while he was supposed to be recuperating. Still, with two able-bodied sailors at his disposal, it shouldn't be too strenuous. So he agreed, feeling slightly flattered and pleased that Smee was the one reaching out, wanting to spend time with him. Even if it was just to utilize his ship.

Emma seemed tentatively amenable to the idea when he called her. He figured it was more in support of his spending time with Smee than the actual sailing part. And of course, she had to be thinking of the _last_ trip she didn't attend. But she said none of those things, keeping her voice calm and controlled as she told him to be careful and have fun, and reminded him of his appointment that afternoon. To which he rolled his eyes and assured her he hadn't forgotten.

The trek to the docks took more out of him than he cared to admit, even to himself. No sign of Smee or Casey yet, so he sat heavily on a bench overlooking the water and waited for the lightheadedness and slight nausea to subside. He ran his hand over his eyes, and the image of a smug, self-righteous Whale sprang unbidden to his mind. Killian cursed the figment, refusing to concede the point even to what was essentially his own subconscious. Whatever this "anemia" was, it felt suspiciously like excessive blood loss. And Killian was no stranger to _that_. He'd never needed more than rest and time to overcome it.

Killian's less-than-healthy state must have been visible, for when Smee and Casey approached a few moments later, they exchanged a knowing glance between them. But when Killian forced himself to his feet, a smile of greeting on his face, they didn't broach the subject. Instead, Smee held up a paper bag.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, sir. We brought some lunch."

"Good thinking, mate. Much appreciated."

The trio made their way aboard the Jolly Roger as Smee asked,

"How do you feel, Captain? It must be good to be home again."

"It is indeed." Killian sighed. "Making progress, I suppose."

"I hope… you didn't feel obligated to do this just because I suggested it. It just sounded like a fun way to pass the day."

"Quite right, Smee. Don't worry. I _wanted_ to come." He raised an eyebrow then. "But it does beg the question how you managed to end up with so much free time mid-week."

Smee looked sheepish for an instant, then shrugged. "I may have called in sick."

Killian grinned and clapped him on the back. "Good for you, mate. A man needs the occasional holiday. Now what say we set sail? Especially should you wish to avoid the unwanted attention of your boss."

With a furtive look around, Smee nodded. "My thoughts exactly, Captain."

They made quick work of casting off, Casey falling immediately back into the familiar tasks required of him. Killian had suggested a cruise skirting the shoreline to the south, to begin familiarizing Casey with his new home.

When they were underway, Smee broke out the sandwiches and they joined Killian at the helm. Killian accepted his meal with a nod of thanks and the query,

"How's it feel, Casey?"

"There's nothing better, sir. I've missed the sea; even more than I realized."

"I'm not the least bit surprised," Killian replied amiably. "Tell you what: you and your father are welcome to take her out any time the sea calls to you. Just… perhaps keep me apprised of your plans, so I don't start a manhunt for that devil Blackbeard."

Casey looked shocked. Smee less so, but still mildly surprised.

"Are you sure? Just the two of us? You'd trust us with your ship?"

Without hesitation, Killian affirmed,

"Aye. I do. And... this ship… she is still precious to me… but she's no longer _everything_. I've found my home now; my family."

Both Casey and Smee were nodding, and Casey replied timidly,

"I'm happy for you, sir. I truly am. Your Emma is quite the woman."

"That she is." Killian unwrapped his reuben and took a careful bite, still managing to drip all over the deck. Casey carefully continued his train of thought.

"And you… you've changed so much, Captain, if I may say so. It does me good to see you happy, and… respectable. Gives me a slight hope of redemption for myself."

Smee patted his son's arm, but Killian was quick to interject.

"Casey, mate. You've nothing to worry about; you're already a good man. I saw evidence of that centuries ago. All your deeds as a member of my crew- the responsibility is mine. You merely followed orders."

Casey looked away, out over the waves to the hazy coastline in the distance. "The enjoyment was my own, though."

"Casey…"

"And you… both of you… you're much farther removed from all of it. You've had _time_ to change. To become better. But I… well, discarding the strange years of statue's dreams, the rest of it seems like just a handful of weeks ago. I'm not sure of my own capacity for change. To control my urges, even."

When Killian hesitated, Smee jumped in.

"You have me, son. I'll help you."

"As will I," added Killian. "Make no mistake, doing the right thing is rarely easy. But Smee is right. Leaning on your family and friends makes a world of difference."

Casey took a few bites of his lunch, deep in thought. Finally, he met the gazes of both companions. "Thank you. That helps, I believe."

There was another pause before Killian reminded him,

"I had leagues farther to go, and much more to atone for. It's still a work in progress. But if _I_ can do it, you certainly can."

"Perhaps." Casey chewed his lower lip before slowly asking, "And… the Dark One? You've… really given up on your vengeance?"

Killian swallowed his familiar disgust at the thought. "The Crocodile and I… we tolerate each other, for the sake of our families, and peace in Storybrooke. His recent instance of making the right choice saved Emma, and for that I am grateful. But I give the credit to Belle, for her influence. I'm afraid it will take much more than that for me to believe he's truly evolved." Killian sighed. "Perhaps that's yet another weakness on my part. I have a tendency to only see the worst in people, especially him."

"He has consistently shown his selfishness, though," Smee pointed out. "I don't think anyone expects you to ever be friends."

"That's good," scoffed Killian. "Because that will never happen. No matter how much either of us change for the better."

"Still," Casey began. "The fact that you're able to control yourself around him… that's quite an impressive feat. The sight of him in our house, despite his attempts to assist in your rescue… it took me right back, and it was all I could do to stay my hand."

"I know the feeling, mate; all too well. Fortunately, our contact these days tends to be brief and amidst family, giving me something else on which I can focus."

"Again: the support of loved ones," Smee pointed out.

The three fell into a comfortable silence. And if Casey didn't look entirely convinced of his own potential for morality, he was at least reassured. They finished the meal and turned their attention to the sights floating past on their starboard side. Smee and Killian shared what little knowledge they both possessed of the world outside of Storybrooke, they made small talk, and generally spent a relaxing couple of hours. All too soon, Killian checked the time on his phone and regretfully turned to his friends.

"I'm afraid I have to cut the afternoon short. I'm required at that bloody hospital yet again."

Casey winced sympathetically. "Those damn vampires really should find themselves a new hobby."

"No arguments there, mate," Killian agreed wryly. "Happily, I believe the purpose of this visit is only to be rid of these sutures at last."

Smee looked guilty for an instant, then quirked his mouth casually. "Is that all? Why don't you just let me do it and save yourself the trip?"

"That isn't necessary, Smee."

"It's no trouble, sir. Especially if it means we can stay out longer."

Killian considered the offer. Whale would probably kill him, and Emma would roll her eyes adorably. "Very well, Smee. But only if you'll allow me to buy you drinks and dinner this evening as thanks."

Smee looked to be choking back a protest, but then his face stilled and he smiled pleasantly. "Sounds fair. Okay. You just wait here; I'll be right back."

Casey watched his father fondly as he disappeared below. Killian began to struggle out of his shirt, knowing that even with the fortnight of healing, his back was still stiff enough to hinder the process. Casey dragged a crate over and Killian sat gratefully. Despite adhesive bandages covering the worst of the gashes, Casey appeared astonished by the state of Killian's back.

"My _father_ did that?"

Killian's half-smile was playful. "Startling, isn't it?"

Smee reappeared with the first aid kit. He ducked his head when he saw both men watching him. "I was angry, okay?"

Killian snorted, and Casey shrugged.

"I guess I should be grateful I was never disciplined by you as a young lad."

Smee's face fell. "I wouldn't… I mean…"

Casey seemed to regret his words, even though they were in jest. "I'm sorry; I didn't intend…"

Smee settled himself behind Killian and began gently stripping bandages from his back. "Forget it."

Chagrined, Casey spoke to the floorboards. "I had a good childhood, make no mistake, but I did frequently wonder what it would have been like to have you around."

Killian felt Smee carefully snip the first suture and tug it free. The process generally only tickled slightly, although there was an occasional pinch when the cotton thread stuck too firmly within a scab.

"That was on my mind a lot, too," Smee admitted. "I regret leaving things the way they were between your mother and I. If I had made more of an effort to reconcile with her, maybe she would have let me see you more often."

"At least you did make an effort. It was always exciting to receive the gifts you would send."

"The best I could do, most of the time."

Killian studied Casey's expression. "Were you close with your mother and stepfather, Casey?"

"I would say so, I suppose. It didn't stop me from running off to join the navy the first opportunity I got. But that was mainly down to the yearnings for freedom common in youths that age."

Killian swallowed back more guilt. "Then let me apologize for yet another wrong. I imagine you never envisioned your naval duties would take you away from them permanently. When I rashly took us all to Neverland, I never considered the consequences; never thought we might become trapped; though I should have known."

"You weren't exactly thinking straight at the time," Casey pointed out gently. "And none of _us_ thought of it, either. At least, not that I know of."

"Still. It was my short-sightedness that ultimately took you from them for good. That, I sincerely regret."

"It wasn't for good, though."

Raising an eyebrow, Killian asked,

"What do you mean?"

Casey leaned casually back against the gunwale. "I got to see them again. Several times, in fact, after Pan began to send us out on his errands. They were fortunate enough to live in one of the villages with which we were… friendly in our relations. I would forgo the entertainments those evenings and pay them a visit instead."

Stunned, Killian let several beats elapse before smiling slyly. "As recently as a few weeks ago, I would have never guessed that the name 'Smee' was synonymous with 'devious'. Well done, mate. I had no clue."

Sheepishly, Casey returned the grin. "Sorry for keeping it a secret. It wasn't that I feared you would… harm them, or forbid the visits. You were just… rather intimidating, if I'm honest."

Killian waved away the apology. "That _was_ the intention. But… I'm glad you could go see them. I take it you told them of your predicament?"

"Aye. They weren't happy, of course, but what could be done? At least there was the occasional reunion to look forward to." His gaze grew distant. "It wasn't easy, seeing them age while I remained the same each time. And of course, the inevitable day I returned to find them both gone. That was difficult. But… I'm grateful for what time I did have with them."

"As am I," Killian agreed softly. Behind him, still working diligently, Smee piped up.

"Me too, if it made you happy."

"D'you know what made it easier? Knowing I'd come back to the ship and find _you_ there, Papa Smee. Same as always. Making up for the times I missed you as a child."

"Until I took _that_ away from you, as well," grumbled Killian. Casey crossed his arms.

"I thought we were past that."

"Working on it," Killian promised. "Knowing that you were able to make the best of the situation- that I didn't destroy _all_ of your happiness- that helps."

"Good. And you know… I bet if you were to ask the other members of the crew… I probably wasn't the only one making stealthy visits on our Enchanted Forest excursions. Who knows who might admit to such a thing, but I can't have been alone in it. So you can release your hold on that guilt, as well. Take it from someone who was in the trenches, so to speak. The crew was happy, for the most part. No one had as much reason to bemoan his lot as you did- if I may say so- and no one begrudged you your quest for vengeance. I think we were just happy to be having adventures and leaving the hard tasks to you."

Killian nodded slowly, grateful for the new perspective. He had never been sure how much of Smee's reassurances had been truth, and how much mere placations. To hear it from Casey, who was closer to the source and had no motive for falsehood, was much more effective against the old doubts and demons. Perhaps he could begin to believe the crew _didn't_ hate him. That he didn't destroy their lives completely. But what a change in paradigm _that_ would be.

Smee plucked another thread. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Aye. Just… processing."

"I _did_ try to tell you."

"You did. I should never have doubted you."

After a moment, Smee stood back. "That's it. Done."

"How's it look, mate?"

Smee came around to stand before him. "Looks good. I'm no professional, of course, but I'd say you should make a full recovery. Unless… you plan to give Casey a turn?"

Killian blinked, then caught the teasing glint. Playing along, he raised an eyebrow at Smee's son. "What do you say, Casey? Care to give it a go?"

Casey straightened and turned white. "Gods, no."

"It's a one-time offer, mate. Going forward, any grievances will have to be settled as civilized citizens of Storybrooke."

"I can live with that," Casey assured him. Killian stood and slipped an arm into a sleeve.

"Good. Frankly, I question my ability to survive another round of this. At the very least, Swan would strangle me where I stood."

"Speaking of, should we try and contact her? Inform her we'll be later than she expects?"

"Aye, you're right. And we can tell her of our dinner arrangements while we're at it. Though we may first need to risk sailing closer to shore in order for this blasted device to collect whatever magic it needs to function."

As it turned out, they actually had to anchor offshore and take the rowboat to the beach before the phone would connect to Emma's. Even then, all it could manage was a text conversation. Yet Killian could still pick up on her amused annoyance at his decision to forgo professional suture removal. He teasingly requested a photo of her reaction, and she quickly obliged. It was _almost_ as good as seeing it in person. Killian replied by having Smee photograph his back, so she could see the results. Her only response was: _Gross._

"Let's bring her along next time," Casey suggested. "I pity her being stuck at work while we enjoy the day."

"She would like that," Killian said. "Especially if we can manage it before summer's end. She tends to get cold easily."

He'd given them permission to use the Jolly Roger without him. And they were still making plans to include him, and Emma too. That told him more about the progress of their reconciliation than mere words ever could.


	29. Chapter 29

**_Chapter 29: Bravo! Yo-Ho!_**

Later that evening, over drinks and dinner at the Rabbit Hole, Killian gave voice to a loose end that wouldn't leave him alone.

"Smee. I've a question for you, mate. Something I can't quite make sense of, knowing now your relationship to Casey here."

"And what's that, sir?"

"Smee."

"Sorry. Mmm...aaate?" Smee drew out the word uncertainly and winced. Emma snorted at the unfamiliar dynamic catching Smee so off-guard. Killian just smiled briefly before continuing.

"After acquiring the bean…" He shot an apologetic look at Casey. "And being recalled to Neverland… You then succeeded in imbuing it with the magic required? That time is a bit… fuzzy for me."

"Yes, not long after we got there."

"So then… why did you not leave immediately? You must have wanted to, to begin your search for Casey. Yet you waited until you had found and rescued me."

Smee looked away and nodded grimly. Killian continued ruefully.

"I'm sure you hated me. It would have been well within your rights to leave me to my fate."

"I couldn't."

"What stopped you?"

Smee squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze, then lowered his voice. "Well… when Pan... took us with you. And made us… watch."

All color drained from Killian's face. Emma grabbed his hand and squeezed, her other hand gently massaging the back of his neck. Casey looked mortified; Smee chewed his lower lip.

"Bloody hell," Killian breathed at last.

"Did you… forget?" asked Smee timidly. With a shuddering breath, Killian shook his head.

"I had myself fairly well convinced it was all an hallucination," he murmured, staring at the tabletop. Red-faced, Smee fiddled with his drink.

"I'm sorry. I… only bring it up because… when I saw how he treated you… I couldn't abandon _anyone_ to that fate. Not even my worst enemy."

Killian worked his jaw in silence for a long while. His three companions sat uneasily, avoiding everyone else's gaze. Finally, Killian thrust aside the painful memories and his humiliation. He straightened, gently removed his hand from Emma's grasp, and took hold of his tumbler. Lifting his eyes to meet Smee's, he held the drink up.

"You're a good man, Smee. And a good friend."

Embarrassed, Smee fumbled for his own drink. He tapped it against Killian's with more force than necessary; both liquors sloshed over the edge and pooled on the table.

"Starkey and Mullins felt the same way…" he stammered before tossing back the remainder of his glass' contents. Killian did likewise, swallowing with a slight growl.

"Well then I shall have to give them my thanks as well."

Smee noticed the mess and used his napkin to wipe it up while Killian retrieved his flask and refilled both glasses.

"In a strange way…" mused Casey. "Pan was the orchestrator of his own demise."

Killian topped off his glass as well. "How do you mean?"

Casey shrugged self-consciously. "Well, I suppose that could be said of any defeated villain, in some roundabout way. I only mean that by… inspiring my father to save you, he ensured that you would be around to assist in his defeat years later."

Killian glanced at Emma before replying,

"I think you may be overestimating the part I played in that adventure."

"Oh. Well, in the 'Welcome to Storybrooke' tale…"

"Killian is just undervaluing his contribution, as always," Emma interrupted.

"No, Swan; you and I both know I was far too distracted by a certain stunning member of our party, making me little use for anything else."

Emma patted his arm, saying,

"Even distracted, you _were_ helpful. Who knows what would have happened without you."

Killian smiled at his wife, then said,

"I think we're overlooking the important part of the story: Pan's defeat."

Enthusiastically, Smee lifted his glass and roared,

"To Pan's defeat!"

The whole table willingly joined him in the toast, belated though it was. Then Casey leapt to his feet in search of a bottle to keep the evening going. As Smee stared proudly after him, Emma leaned close to Killian.

"You might want to go easy tonight. You wouldn't want to end up back in the hospital, would you?"

"Bloody hell, love; don't even joke about that."

But she noticed he did exercise caution for the rest of the evening.

Which was more than could be said for the soon-very-drunk Smee and Casey.

And when Smee spilled the remainder of the tequila over the whole party and Emma used her magic to clean it all up, Killian only smiled benevolently at his very confused friend.


	30. Chapter 30

**_Chapter 30: Finally on the Right Path_**

 _~Enchanted Forest: 6 weeks after Neverland Escape~_

Hook was being unreasonable, and he knew it. He just couldn't bring himself to care.

Nearly every day, Smee would ask for a bit of shore leave. Without fail, Hook would forbid it. He needed Smee by his side. It was _killing_ him to be sidelined just when he finally had the freedom to pursue the clues he'd gathered for his plan of revenge. And that made him even less patient and understanding than usual. Hook was stuck aboard the Jolly Roger; therefore, so was Smee.

Other members of the crew could tend to his needs, true. But only Smee was allowed to witness his nightmares: Hook was starting to remember bits and pieces of his recent ordeal.

Injuring his ankle while drunk would have been a far preferable circumstance.

What did Smee want ashore, anyway? It wasn't as if he ever spent much time with the ladies. Even working girls treated him with more pity than flattery; a fact Hook cruelly pointed out in response to yet another plea for freedom. Smee merely looked shifty and retorted that he had 'private business,' huffing away to the sound of Hook's derisive snort.

It eventually worked in Hook's favor, or so he thought. When the pirate captain insisted on bearing weight on his ankle far earlier than was prudent, Smee didn't voice the objections Hook had expected. It appeared the first mate wanted Hook's recovery as much as Hook did. Even at the cost of constant, intense pain- which Hook muted with too much rum- and possible permanent damage to the joint.

Hook couldn't think long-term. His thirst for vengeance crowded out all other considerations.

And so, when Hook declared himself fit for an excursion ashore a scant six weeks later, it wasn't much of a surprise that Smee begged to come along. It wasn't even a complete shock to find he had disappeared by the next morning, although Hook would never have guessed he'd have the courage to be a deserter. He shrugged it off in front of the other men, but in truth… it did sting a little. If only because his vengeful imaginings lately had included Smee and the rest of the crew as witnesses to the Dark One's death.

Hook fleetingly considered chasing him down. The fool would not have been hard to track; that was for sure. If theirs had still been a naval ship, desertion would certainly have been severely punished. And Hook did worry about the precedent it would set. He'd been through a lot with these men, and would have difficulty breaking in new recruits. But… that was also kind of the point. If, after centuries, the men had grown weary of this lifestyle, even Hook couldn't begrudge them that.

Besides, Hook couldn't even be sure he hadn't given Smee permission to go. He had absolutely no memory of the day before, and neither did his men. Given the not-unremarkable hangovers they all nursed, there was clearly considerable amounts of alcohol involved. And with the way his ankle felt- back up to almost Day One pain levels- Hook seriously wondered if he'd been dancing around on tabletops all night.

Well, it _was_ the first official celebration of their escape from Neverland. A little rowdiness was to be expected.

Hook let Smee go, in the end. His leads about the Crocodile's locked-up maidservant were in the opposite direction. No use wasting time on a former first mate who obviously didn't want the job anymore.

And yet… though he would never admit it... there existed a small part of him that hoped their paths would cross again one day.

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"Just got off the phone with Dr. Whale."

Emma breezed in with the announcement, and Killian set aside the paperwork with a reluctant sigh.

"Aye? Let's hear the ill-tidings, then."

She grinned and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "It's good news, Killian. Your blood count is almost back to normal. He thinks one more check in a week, and you can stop all those meds."

"About time, too," he growled playfully. He pulled her onto his lap and lunged greedily for her lips. She gladly reciprocated until remembering they were still at the sheriff's station. She pulled back, eliciting a groan of protest from her husband.

"Wanna call it a day and take this celebration somewhere more comfortable?"

Through the lecherous glint in his eyes, he made a token responsible protest. "Technically, Swan, we have eight minutes remaining of our shift."

She shrugged. "How much would we get done in eight minutes? My dad's back from patrol, and the night shift is here already. What d'you say?"

"No need to go any further, love. You have me thoroughly convinced."

They both stood and made their way out of their shared office. David and one of the other deputies were standing before the station's TV set, watching the New England Revolution lose badly to the defending MLS champion Seattle Sounders. A brief aerial shot of the West Coast city ended a commercial break, and Killian commented,

"Beautiful city, Seattle. What's that body of water in the foreground?"

David shrugged; Emma, remembering from her time in Oregon, supplied,

"I think it's Puget Sound. Part of the Pacific Ocean."

"Ah. _Sounders_. Clever."

"We're heading out for the night," Emma told her father, who nodded.

"Good night, you two. See you in the morning. And Killian: good to have you back. We missed you around here."

"Did you now?" Killian smirked teasingly. With a noncommittal shrug, David amended,

"Emma did, at least. She's much harder to be around when she's pining for you."

"That's enough, Dad," Emma scolded good-naturedly. "Hope the last hour of your day goes smoothly."

Without waiting for a reply, she took hold of Killian's arm and they vanished in a cloud of smoky magic. And rematerialized just outside their front door. Killian quirked an eyebrow at her.

"It appears your aim is off," he remarked as she unlocked the bolt with a wave of her hand.

"What makes you say that?"

He followed her into their living room. "I had rather a different celebratory method in mind."

"We'll get there, just hold your horses." She motioned for him to join her on the couch, which he did with only mild foreboding.

"Is something wrong, love?"

"No, don't worry; everything's fine. I just… with you getting better and things going back to normal… I wanted to say again that I'm proud of you for helping Smee to get his happy ending."

"Considering I was the one to take it from him in the first place, it was only fitting."

"Still. Do you feel better about yourself now? No other urges for self-harm, or anything else you can't let go?"

He considered the questions seriously for a long moment before replying.

"I think… perhaps… I'm sated. And should the unexpected arise, I shall henceforth confide in my lovely and understanding bride." He ran his fingers through her hair adoringly.

"That sounds like a good plan. Will you give me your word on that?"

"Wholeheartedly."

Their kiss started off gently, in gratitude and appreciation for each others' love and forgiveness. But it soon became flooded with heat, and Killian gasped into her face,

"You ready for a happy ending to this day, love? I do believe I made a vow to that effect."

Breathlessly, Emma asked,

"Are you sure you're ready for that? Physically, I mean."

His expression could not have been more amorous. "Let's find out, shall we?"

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 **AN: (He was, of course!)**

 **Thanks so much for reading! I hope it was enjoyable. Sorry for the weak ending- I'd be open to suggestions for how to improve it!**

 **As I said before, I might add a couple of "bonus" chapters at the end. One of them I'm almost sure I will, because it's cute and was an excuse to write more Captain Charming :)**

 **If anyone is wondering, a couple of background characters were loosely based on "The Last Unicorn." I know it's not really a fairy tale, but I loved it when I was growing up. Tuliro is Haggard (according to Microsoft Translator, "haggard" English translates into "Tuliro" in Filipino, although it doesn't work the other way? That's how I got the name, anyway.) Instead of collecting unicorns, he collected human statues. Thea is supposed to be the titular unicorn, although she pretty much sounds the same as any medical person I try to write :D**

 **Have fun with Season 7! I'm looking forward to hearing Killian say "Seattle"; I hope he keeps his accent! I also would like him to become very well acquainted with Harborview :] I figured it would be more likely he'd be a Sounders fan, but maybe there would be enough peer pressure for him to like the Seahawks, too. Or maybe he'll be too busy searching for something missing from his life...**


	31. Bonus 1

_**Bonus 1**_

 **AN: As promised, a bonus "deleted scene" (that I actually wrote after the whole story was done, but sort of had the idea for all along.) A little context for you, so you don't have to search through the story to see where it fits in: this goes in Chapter 11, when David comes to take Killian for his evening antibiotic infusion because Emma is still stuck at work. No plot, just Captain Charming and a bit more pain for Killian :] _Slight_ spoilers for my other story "Well-Pirate Exam."**

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Outside, Killian grimaced as he climbed into David's truck. The step too high, the effort too much. A growl of pain escaped, much to his chagrin, and he gritted out,

"Did you have to bring the bloody beanstalk, mate?"

Momentarily confused, David fastened his seat belt before catching on and answering with a smirk. But then he saw Killian's pained look as the pirate settled himself carefully - and by the looks of it, uncomfortably- half-sideways in his seat.

"Sorry. You okay over there?"

Killian hissed a breath when his attempts to grasp the seat belt caused too much strain against his wounds.

"Not particularly," he grumbled. David reached across his son-in-law and snagged the belt, pulling it carefully across to its latch. Killian raised an annoyed eyebrow but was too busy fighting back pain to comment. The left half of his back rested gingerly against the seat, and the pressure was agonizing. David quickly started the engine and threw the truck into gear.

"I'll get you there soon, just hang on."

"Now you can see why I prefer Emma's mode of transport," Killian grunted, his face and voice tight.

"I don't blame you," David replied. He winced as the truck struck a pothole, jostling its occupants. He risked a glance over at his passenger to find Killian's eyes screwed shut. "Sorry."

The ride was mostly smooth after that, though with still too much vibration and shaking for Killian's comfort. When they finally reached the hospital, sweat stood out on his face, and his jaw ached from clenching. David parked in a spot as close to the entrance as possible and jumped out as Killian struggled to release his belt. Then David hovered by the open door, unsure how to help. Killian slowly rotated to face the door, plastering an unconvincing smile on his face.

"I can take it from here, mate," Killian slurred. He scooted forward and then leapt down with a slight whimper when his feet contacted the ground.

"I know you can," David replied, watching with sympathy. "But I told Emma I'd stay and take you home after."

Killian wheezed a few breaths and then raised an eyebrow. "She's anticipating being that late?"

"It's… a long story. But that could very well be the case."

Killian took a hobbling step, then another, trying to loosen up for the trek inside. "I appreciate it, Dave, but I've no wish to keep you from your family this evening. I can wait for Emma to finish."

David kept his pace slow to match the pained pirate's. "I don't mind. We ate already, and Neal's in bed."

"Best part of the day, then," Killian smirked, and David rolled his eyes.

"Don't go there, pirate."

The automatic doors slid open, and the pair entered the building, with Killian leading the way to the elevators.

"Are you sure, mate? It's really not necessary."

"Yes. I'm sure. Unless you don't want the company."

"No, that's all right. You can come, I suppose, and fill me in on the recent goings-on at the sheriff's station."

Killian pressed the button for the appropriate floor.

"Sure. Did you hear about Leroy's latest complaint?"

The prince filled Killian in on the dwarf's grievance, until finally, they approached the all-too familiar Ambulatory Infusion clinic. The room was empty, save a single nurse, who was busily cleaning and restocking his supplies. Killian hadn't encountered him before.

The nurse looked up as they entered, giving a welcoming smile.

"Hi there! I'm Rick. You must be Killian."

"Aye. Nice to meet you, Rick. This is David."

"Your highness." Rick made a little bow before shaking the hands of both men. "Come on in. I'm all set up for you. My last patient of the day."

Killian limped over to his cot and sat heavily with a grimace. David threw himself on the nearest recliner seat, leaning back with hands behind his head. Killian unscrewed his hook and slowly shucked his jacket, leaving him in only the short-sleeved T-shirt he'd learned was the best option for this procedure. Rick brought over the automatic blood pressure machine and wrapped the cuff around Killian's left upper arm. He started the measurement and then went to the cabinets on the other end of the room.

"Where in the world did I put the thermometer?" mused Rick over the hum of the machine. He tore through all the cabinets and drawers, rushing back over when Killian's blood pressure and pulse flashed on the monitor. Rick wrote the results in Killian's chart, removed the cuff, and then resumed his hunt.

"I could run home and get Neal's," David offered with a sly grin. Killian looked back at him, puzzled.

"I'm afraid I'm missing something, mate. Why does the little prince require his own thermometer?"

David shifted, looking away for a second. "Uh… well… you know what, never mind."

"No, I'm seriously asking, mate. I'll never understand all these references if no one will bother explaining."

"It's just that…"

From his spot by the supplies, Rick interjected helpfully. "Infants can't close their mouths on command, so it's common to measure their temps rectally."

"I see," Killian said quickly.

"You know, in their…"

"I've got the point, mate," Killian growled. Then he turned back to an innocently smiling David. "In this fantasy world of yours, Dave, did you ever consider just what may result of such an intrusion?"

David shrugged, and Killian fingered the hook at his side. "Let's just say you'd find something a little bigger and sharper than a thermometer inside of you."

David chuckled. Finally, Rick made a noise of triumph, and carried the instrument in question to Killian's side. "In your mouth; don't worry."

While the plastic-covered metal probe sat under Killian's tongue, the nurse began unwrapping the bandage from his forearm. When the machine had registered, Rick removed it and wrote down the results, asking,

"What would you say your pain level is this evening? On a scale of 1 - 10?"

Killian considered this, finally selecting,

"Four at rest, spiking to seven with movement."

Rick nodded and recorded his response. "Great, well, let's get started."

After Killian got settled on his side, the nurse uncapped the extension tubing and attached the usual syringe with heparin solution to flush the catheter. But instead of the smooth depression of the plunger, Rick struggled for a moment, then frowned. He palpated the area surrounding the catheter, then asked,

"Any pain there? Tenderness?"

"No."

Rick tried again with the flush, gently pulling and pushing against the plunger. Again, nothing happened. "Hmmmm…" he mused, before gently peeling back the adhesive window covering the catheter itself. He grasped the extension's lock and twisted, eventually pulling it loose. Then he attached the flush directly to the plug end of the catheter. After one more attempt to flush it, he shook his head.

"There's a clot," he announced. "Not sure how it happened…"

Killian grimaced in guilt. "I may have… been scratching at it. Without thinking."

"That could be why," Rick agreed. "Was it hurting or itching?"

"Not particularly. Merely an annoyance, I suppose."

"Well, I'm going to have to replace it. Sorry."

"No need to apologize, mate. The fault is my own."

Rick shrugged and then went to gather a few more supplies. Killian shot a rueful look at David.

"Sorry."

"Why are you apologizing to me? _You're_ the one having to get poked again."

"For the delay," Killian explained. "If I'd left well enough alone, this damn infusion could be running already."

"I'm in no hurry," David reminded him, unconcerned.

"It shouldn't take long," added Rick, bringing all his supplies to Killian's bedside. Much like Thea had done two days earlier, Rick propped Killian's arm on a pillow before wrapping a tourniquet above his elbow. Killian gave a sigh and closed his eyes while the nurse prodded at his forearm, staying above the current catheter's position. After a long moment, he seemed to select a site directly in the center of Killian's forearm, in the middle of his tattoo. Killian felt the cold sensation of rubbing alcohol, the smell enough to prickle in his nostrils.

"Ready, Killian?" Rick asked, and Killian nodded, eyes still closed.

"Aye."

Killian felt the sting of the needle, but not the accompanying ache of its intrusion into the vein. Rick made a quiet noise of frustration and drew back slightly before altering the needle's angle. This he repeated multiple times, each thrust a little spark of hurt under Killian's skin. Finally, Killian opened his eyes just in time to witness Rick remove the needle entirely.

"Sorry," said the nurse, sheepishly probing once more at the site. Killian raised an eyebrow.

"What happened?"

"I… missed. It happens, sometimes. Always embarrassing. Let me just…"

He continued pressing on the arm, ignoring the tiny bead of blood gathering on the tattooed dagger's blade. Then he opened a new needle and swiped again at Killian's skin with an alcohol pad, causing a short bloom of pain at the failed puncture. Rick positioned the new needle not two centimeters above the drop of fresh blood. He briefly met Killian's eyes, decided a warning was unnecessary with Killian now watching the procedure, and pierced the skin a second time.

Again, the nurse huffed in frustration, and Killian saw and felt him draw back the needle before sliding it forward at a different angle. Killian shifted slightly, irritated by the small twinges of pain accompanying the needle's movements.

"You can put an end to your digging; I've buried no treasure there."

Rick met Killian's gaze with a sheepish smile. "Treasure. Cuz of the… pirate thing. Heh. Good one."

Killian laid his head back and closed his eyes again, having no particular desire to watch the needle move inside his flesh. Suddenly, a shock of electricity sizzled up his arm, and he nearly leapt out of his skin. Rick pulled out the needle and stepped back hastily.

"Ouch, mate! Bloody hell- what was that?!"

"I'm so sorry; I must have touched a nerve. Are you all right?"

Killian relaxed again, nodding. "Just startled me."

"Me too," winced Rick, who glanced down at the catheter's blood-filled chamber. "I was in, too, at some point." He discarded the instrument and gripped Killian's arm to study the second puncture site. "Vein's blown. Of course."

He pressed a cotton ball to the area as David asked from behind him,

"Are you sure you're qualified to do this?"

Rick cringed. "Of course I am! I'm just… a little rusty, maybe. I only recently transferred back from a less hands-on department."

"Lucky me," Killian grumbled. Rick taped the cotton in place and grinned too brightly.

"Third time's the charm, right?"

"How about a break?" suggested David. "Hook?"

"As much as I'd like to have this over with, I'm starting to lose feeling in my hand, which, admittedly, is a bit disconcerting for a man who only has one."

"Right. Of course. I'm sorry." Rick quickly loosened the tourniquet. "Wiggle your fingers a bit; maybe make a couple of fists; get the blood flowing again. I have an idea that might help. Be right back."

Rick slunk from the room, leaving David and an exasperated Killian to themselves.

"How ya holdin' up?" asked David sympathetically.

Killian made a face. "I'm no novice when it comes to pain; still, I'll be better when this is done." He quirked an eyebrow at his father-in-law. "Care to change your mind about staying? This looks to be a much longer ordeal than we'd anticipated."

"And leave you alone in the hands of that…" David glanced toward the hallway and lowered his voice. "Incompetence?"

"I appreciate the concern, mate, but I can't help wondering if _you're_ the problem."

"What?! Me?!" David gave him an innocently offended glare. "What did _I_ do?"

"You seem to be bad luck, Dave. No one's ever had issue before tonight; even that bloody Zazu bloke, and he's intended to have feathers for fingers."

David couldn't have looked more confused. "What? Who?

Killian winced at the memory. "Sorry, mate; that's a story I'm keeping entirely to myself. Forever, if possible."

Shrugging, David slid from the recliner. "Suit yourself. Want some water?" He sauntered over to the water cooler in the corner and filled two paper cups, bringing them to Killian's cot. Killian accepted one with a nod of thanks, sipping carefully and awkwardly, as David drank from the other. David "tsked" at the spot of blood visible on Killian's arm. "How about a Band-Aid?"

"It's fine, mate."

But David was already opening a package. He grabbed Killian's arm and smoothed the Band-Aid next to the cotton ball already stuck nearby. "I wonder why he's leaving the other catheter in?"

"Don't ask me; I've no bloody clue."

Then Rick returned with a heating pad, and David retreated back to his chair.

"We'll put this on your arm- the heat causes the blood vessels to dilate, making them easier to find."

"Find, mate? Why not use one of the plainly visible ones?"

Rick plugged in the heating pad and rested it over Killian's forearm, explaining,

"Well, the visible veins in the wrist are too small. And I have to move closer to your heart, not farther away. Veins carry blood from your hand to your heart, so if I go below where a catheter has already been… or a puncture to the vein- sorry 'bout that… then some of the solution might leak out and irritate the surrounding tissue."

"I see," Killian sighed. "So what happens if you run out of veins?"

"First of all, that won't happen. But if it _did_ , I guess we'd have to move to your other arm."

David broke in with a question of his own. "And you want to leave the old one in place… why?"

"Just til we get the new one set. To prevent excess bruising from the tourniquet."

"Well, you certainly sound as if you know the theory," Killian admitted. Rick responded in an affronted tone.

"I know the practice, too; I swear. Every once in a while, you get one that refuses to cooperate. Usually at the end of a shift. Or when you're busiest; that's always fun, too." He checked that the heating pad had become warm, then added, "We'll let that sit for a few minutes. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves."

Rick went over to his supplies area, and Killian rolled his eyes at David, who grinned. The prince chugged the rest of his water and then asked,

"So, I heard the basics from Emma, but want to share the real story? Why Smee was angry?"

Killian hesitated, reluctant to reveal the painful details in front of a stranger. Luckily, Rick chose that moment to excuse himself for a bathroom break, so Killian filled David in on the story, particularly the eventual fate of Casey.

"I spent my whole life hating my father for abandoning me and Liam into servitude, yet I did the very same when it suited me. Bloody hypocrite."

"At least you're trying to make up for it now," was all David could offer in reply. He couldn't disagree, of course, nor try and make Killian somehow feel less guilty about the decision. "Do you think you're going to be able to find him?"

"I'm going to do my damndest, I'll tell you that much."

"Well, let me know if there's any way I can help."

"Thanks, mate."

Rick finally waltzed back into the room. "Let's see what we've got, eh?" He grabbed a handful of new needles and tossed them onto the tray containing the rest of his equipment. "I was thinking it might help if you were sitting up. Do you think that would be possible?"

Killian looked doubtful. "That's a bit of a challenge, at present."

"We'll get creative, then. Hmmm…" Rick's gaze roamed the room until it came to rest on a high-backed, armless wooden chair in the waiting area. "How 'bout this?"

The nurse retrieved the chair and set it near the cot. "You can sit backwards, and we can arrange some pillows for you to lean against."

"I'll give it a go, if it means finally getting the damn catheter in."

With the assistance of David, they managed to get Killian settled somewhat comfortably in the chair; the support of the pillows meant he was able to keep his back straight without tensing too many muscles under the injured skin. Rick dragged over a small, adjustable table with a surgical cloth draped over, on which he had Killian rest his arm.

"Much better," Rick announced, turning the overhead lamp to shine where he needed it. Killian glanced over at David, who had resumed his place on the nearby chair. The prince met his look with an encouraging smile.

Rick set aside the heating pad and replaced the tourniquet. As he palpated for veins, he remarked,

"I was thinking that maybe your awesome tattoo ended up a little bit of a distraction. Normally there would be more visual cues for those veins in the middle there. So I'm going to go for one of the ones on the sides. Here… or… here…"

He pointed to spots on either side of the tattoo, almost in line with the earlier attempts. Killian couldn't see many 'visual cues' in those areas, either, but didn't bother questioning the man. If it gave him the confidence he required, Killian was willing to allow him his delusions.

Rick decided on the side closer to the pinky finger, and repeated the usual cleaning of the skin. Opening a third catheter, he positioned the point of the needle just above the site and seemed to say a quick little prayer before the poke. This time, there was an immediate flash of blood in the chamber, but Rick's celebration was short-lived when the catheter would not advance. It seemed he had angled too deeply and gone straight through. He pulled back slightly, wanting to salvage the situation, but a bruise was quickly forming already, and he felt he shouldn't use the compromised vein. He pulled the needle out with a sigh.

"That one… didn't count?" squeaked Rick, holding pressure on the area.

"Is there anyone else around who could try?" David asked. Rick shook his head.

"Not at this time of night. Unless _you_ have the training…?"

David rolled his eyes.

"I didn't think so."

Killian nodded toward the stash of needles. "Next one. Go on."

"But, the bruise…"

"The bloody bruise is the least of my concerns, mate. All I want is to get out of here before midnight."

Rick pursed his lips and then hastily taped a cotton ball over the puncture. "This time. I swear."

It actually took two more attempts, by which time Killian was just about ready to let David have a turn. But with the fifth poke came the sought-after ache, the flash of blood, and Rick's relieved smile when the catheter threaded easily into the vein. Mid-forearm, just above the tattooed handle. Carefully, Rick finished the process and taped everything in place; perhaps a bit more securely than was truly necessary.

"Steady there, mate; I can assure you I've no intention of touching this one."

With a sheepish expression, Rick stuck the current strip of tape back onto the roll. "Good. And… you know… sorry for all of that. I guess I need a little more practice before I'm left on my own again."

"Glad I could be of service," Killian replied pointedly. Then he smirked. "You know… Dave over there has two arms and a penchant for doing good deeds. Perhaps he would…"

"No way in hell!" David exclaimed, crossing his arms as if he could hide them from the nurse. "No offense," he added, to soften the blow. Rick only shrugged.

"That's okay. I don't blame you. Okay, Killian, would you rather lie down for the infusion?"

"Aye," Killian told him unequivocally: sitting was slowly increasing the amount of pain from his back. So Rick helped him up and moved chair and pillows aside as Killian resumed his more comfortable position on the cot. Then the nurse attached the IV line and _finally_ got the antibiotic solution flowing.

"Any word from Emma?" wondered Killian, weariness starting to overcome him. David checked his phone and shook his head. Then he noticed the pirate's drooping eyelids.

"Why don't you take a short nap, Hook? I might just have a snooze, myself… as long as Rick stays away from me with those needles!"

Rick raised his hands innocently. "I won't go near you; I swear! I wouldn't dream of doing anything to the prince without his consent."

"Yet it's perfectly acceptable to torture the pirate," grumped Killian softly. Rick patted his hand sympathetically.

"It's a tough life, being a commoner." He picked up the forgotten paper cup. "More water?"

Killian just shook his head, eyes already closed. He could hear Rick clearing away the supplies, and a gentle snore from David. A little smile, and then he, too, was drifting.

But not for long.

Killian snapped awake when a familiar and unwelcome voice rang out.

"How's my favorite patient tonight?"

"Bloody hell."

"Hey, Dr. Whale," greeted Rick, trying to look as busy as possible.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Killian growled. Dr. Whale marched right up to the cot with an obnoxious grin.

"Time for a progress check. Rick let me know you were here."

"Bloody traitor."

"I had a little free time in my schedule, so I thought I'd drop by and see how the meds are working for you."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"Leave him alone, Whale," David broke in. "You're interrupting his relaxation time."

The physician completely ignored the prince, pulling the stethoscope from his shoulders. Rick helpfully brought Killian's chart over for the doctor to peruse. Whale skimmed Killian's vitals and then his eyebrows went up.

"Five attempts? Really?"

Rick shuffled his feet. "Sorry?"

"No wonder you're grumpy."

"That's not it; you tend to bring out the worst in me." Killian watched Whale distrustfully as he stuck the stethoscope in his ears and held the other end against Killian's chest. He didn't ask him to remove his T-shirt, at least.

"Deep breaths, Hook."

Killian complied resentfully. The physician listened to his heart and lungs for a long moment, then flipped the stethoscope back over his shoulders. Turning to Rick, he asked,

"Did you at least get the bloodwork I ordered?"

Rick paled, stammering,

"Uh… bloodwork? I… I didn't see those orders. Sorry."

Whale rolled his eyes and pulled a penlight from his pocket. "Check again, and remember for next time. You could have saved the patient another needle stick."

"Of course, Dr. Whale."

Whale shone the light into Killian's eyes, noting his pupil reflexes and the color of his sclera and conjunctiva. Next, he put away the light and palpated the lymph nodes in Killian's neck. Killian scowled at the physician, then at David, who seemed amused by Killian's annoyance.

"Think this is funny, Dave? Last I remember, you weren't on the best of terms with this sadist, either."

"Well, he _did_ deliver my son. I guess we've… put it behind us?"

Ignoring the commentary, Whale stepped lower and began to gently palpate Killian's internal organs. Killian ground his teeth at the presumption.

"Any side effects to report, Hook? Abdominal pain, diarrhea, anything like that?"

"No," huffed Killian in reply.

"And how is your back feeling?"

"Bloody wonderful."

The doctor stepped around to the other side of the cot, and Killian tensed. He squeezed his eyes shut with a hiss when Whale raised the T-shirt as far as it would go.

"I've _told_ you, mate…"

"I know, I know. No surgery, no resuturing, and no painkillers. I just need to see if the infection is subsiding, or getting worse."

Whale peeled back the bandages as Killian clenched his jaw tightly. Breathing deeply through his nose, he was able to fight back the resulting fire from the wounds. He heard David get to his feet.

"Can I see?" David asked gently. Killian opened his eyes, swallowed, and then nodded his assent. At least then his father-in-law would know Emma wasn't exaggerating the extent of the injuries.

David let out an impressed whistle at the sight. "Emma's right. You're insane."

"Yet she still married me," Killian grit out. Then he was biting back a yelp as Whale gently probed at a particular area of his right shoulderblade. " _Bloody hell!_ Take your bloody barbarous hands off me, demon!"

"I'm a demon, now," Whale said calmly, stepping back. "You have an abscess. That'll need to be drained; the antibiotics alone won't take care of it."

"Why should I believe you?" panted Killian. "You get paid by procedure, don't you? Or is it by the number of needles you can stick into people?"

"It… does look kinda gross," David reported. "Like a giant pimple. It has to hurt."

Killian gingerly ran his hand down his face. "The whole bloody thing hurts, mate."

"Let me just explain the procedure, and you can decide then. Okay?" asked Whale. Without waiting for a reply, he barrelled on. "I'll numb you up; you don't even need sedation. It's a small incision, to let the pus out, and I'll maybe pack it with gauze or a rubber tube to let it continue to drain for a day or so."

Letting out a slow breath, Killian grimaced. "You say it won't resolve on its own?"

"Highly unlikely. That's my honest professional opinion."

Killian's reply was half irritated sigh, half speech. "Ohhhh _bloody_ welldoitthen."

"Right. I just need to grab some things from next door; I'll be right back. Don't move." Whale looked beseechingly at David. "Don't let him leave."

David shrugged. "I'm not gonna stop him. It's his choice."

Whale left, muttering under his breath all the while, and David came back around to Killian's front. The pirate cocked a shaky eyebrow.

"Not going to watch, mate?"

"Uh, no thanks. Not unless you want me to pass out."

Killian smirked. "That would be quite the amusing distraction."

"Glad to know you'd be so gleeful about my discomfort."

"How 'bout that blood sample while we wait?" interrupted Rick. Killian looked up as if seeking the patience not to strangle the man.

"Speaking of discomfort…"

"Maybe you want to ask Whale to do it?" suggested David, eyeing the butterfly needle and vials in the nurse's hand.

" _This_ I can do," Rick told him earnestly. "This tiny needle? No catheter to position? Piece of cake."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Killian grumbled. Rick took hold of his wrist and secured the tourniquet well below the IV line.

"I should probably _technically_ use the other arm, but since you're laying on it… this should be fine, for the short amount of time." Rick rotated Killian's wrist and began disinfecting the back of his hand. "Look at all these nice, juicy veins for me here, huh?"

Killian rolled his eyes and snuggled deeper into his pillow, sick of the whole place. Rick folded his fingers into a half-fist, taking note of the size and position of each vein, and finally selecting one running back between thumb and forefinger. He positioned Killian's hand optimally, uncapped the needle, and then smoothly pierced through the skin and into the vein. There was a momentary sting, perhaps slightly more noticeable than the less-sensitive flesh of his arm, but at least the nurse had found the vein this time. Killian watched the first vial fill with blood. Rick switched tubes as Dr. Whale came bustling back in.

"Thank you, Rick," he said briskly, setting a surgical pack on a tray beside Killian. One more vial, and then the nurse was holding some gauze over the needle as he withdrew it from Killian's hand. Rick held pressure against the site for a moment before taping the gauze in place and then moving to assist Whale. "Let's get that shirt off, shall we?"

"Everyone's always trying to undress me," Killian snarked at David, before having to hold his breath against the threatening cries of pain as Rick started attempting to pull the fabric over his head. "Just… cut it," he gasped. "Swan will fix it."

"Oh. Sure." Rick was quick to comply, and soon had the remnants of the shirt folded over Killian's shoulder.

"On your stomach, please," Whale ordered, and Killian painfully complied until he lay gulping for air through clenched teeth. He had his head facing David, his view mostly blocked by Dr. Whale standing at his shoulder. Rick arranged the IV line so that it wouldn't obstruct the physician as he worked.

Whale lay a surgical drape over Killian's back, leaving the shoulderblade exposed through the hole and setting off new fireworks of pain from the rest of the wounds. Then he painted on some sort of disinfectant, and it was all Killian could do not to cry out... or pass out, one or the other.

"I'm going to inject the anesthetic now," warned Whale. "It might burn for a moment before numbing you up."

Killian did his best not to flinch away from the needle's touch, white-hot in the center of his shoulderblade. Scorching warmth lanced all the way to the bone, and Killian turned his head slightly to bury his face into the pillow.

"Hold still, please," admonished Whale. For several miserable seconds, Killian allowed himself to picture exactly what the man's face would look like as he throttled him. Then, the numbing agent took effect, and all he felt was pressure as Whale worked to drain and clean out the abscess.

Finishing up, Whale announced,

"We'll leave the drain in place for a couple of days, to prevent any more buildup of fluid."

"Are you saying I'll have the pleasure of seeing your face again so soon?" Killian mumbled into the pillow.

"Yep. Aren't we both lucky?"

Dr. Whale removed the drape and applied new bandages to all of the lacerations, with the assistance of Rick. Killian turned his head again, settling more comfortably with his cheek on the pillow. He noted the almost-empty bag of antibiotic still dripping steadily into his IV. David sat studying his phone.

Bandaging now complete, Whale came back into view, holding a syringe and alcohol pad. Killian expected him to go for the port on the IV tubing, but he reached instead for Killian's upper arm. Bristling, Killian rolled too quickly back onto his side. Through a grimace, he snarled,

"Oi; what the hell are you doing?"

"It's not a painkiller, Hook; just something to help with the healing process."

"I was under the impression that's what _this_ is for." Killian indicated his IV with a scowl.

"Yeah; it works in tandem with it. 'Synergistic,' if you want the fancy term. Optional, but highly recommended. So what's it gonna be, Hook?"

Killian engaged in a momentary staredown with the physician, looking for the deception. "And it can't be combined into the bloody IV?"

"Not in this form, no."

Which could have been a sneaky way to hide the fact that there _was_ an IV version. But Killian was tired of the battle. "Could it possibly reduce the number of antibiotic infusions, in the long run?"

"Sure. It _could_. You never know."

Killian rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the bloody useless answers. Fine. If only to hurry you on your way."

Whale simply nodded and scrubbed at Killian's deltoid with the alcohol wipe. Killian turned his hassled gaze to David and muttered,

"What did I say, mate? Needles."

Whale jabbed him with the syringe, and David replied with a sympathetic wince.

With aching soreness of the muscle now added to the litany of bruises and punctures up and down Killian's arm, Whale withdrew the needle and stuck a small Band-Aid to the spot.

"No big deal, right?" intoned the physician, condescending.

"David, have you seen where my hook's gone?" fumed Killian. Dr. Whale scoffed and tossed the syringe onto the tray of used surgical tools.

"No 'thanks'. Never any gratitude with this one. See ya, Rick. Charming. _Hook_." Whale breezed toward the exit. "Sheriff."

Killian's head snapped in that direction, eliciting a wince when the movement aggravated his back. Emma appeared in the doorway, looking tired but wearing a teasing smirk.

"Swan," grinned Killian. "Have you come to provide a dashing rescue?"

Emma sauntered over and leaned against David's recliner. "Why? Who needs rescuing?"

"Dr. Whale," David butted in. "He just barely avoided being murdered."

"Oh?" asked Emma sarcastically. "Anything worth investigating?"

"Nothing to tax our overworked sheriff, love," Killian assured her smoothly. "Everything sorted for the night?"

"As much as it could be, I guess," she replied wearily. "And Dad said you were still here, so I came to see if you want a 'ride' home with me."

"Gods, yes," Killian exclaimed. "Your father's bloody truck is likely to be the death of me."

Emma caught sight of all of the bandages on her husband's arm, and raised an eyebrow. She got up and took his hand in hers. "What's all this?"

"Nothing short of bloody torture," grumbled Killian.

"He needed a new catheter, and I couldn't find a vein," Rick jumped in. "Hi, I'm Rick."

"Emma." She turned Killian's arm back and forth, studying the battlefield, and smirked. "Was someone fidgeting?"

"Not in the slightest," Killian scoffed. "I assure you, Swan, I was the very model of good behavior."

"He was," confirmed Rick. "It was my fault. I have to admit, it's a little nerve-wracking to have Prince Charming watching your every move."

Killian's raised eyebrow at David said very clearly _I told you so_. David held up his hands and jumped to the floor.

"I'm outta here. Seeing as I'm neither needed nor wanted…"

"Thanks for the ride, mate," Killian said sincerely. "And for the company, bad luck as it was."

David winked. "Anytime. Get well soon."

As the prince left, the pump began to beep, signalling the end of the infusion. Rick slid past Emma and powered it down before disconnecting Killian's extension. Emma stepped back and allowed the nurse to flush and secure the catheter. Then she assisted Killian to a sitting position, magically repaired his T-shirt, and began peeling the various Band-Aids and strips of tape from his hand and arm.

"May I?" she asked gently. Killian nodded his assent.

"Aye, love. Please."

He felt her sparkling shimmer of magic tingle its way through his arm, healing each small puncture and shadowy bruise. Rick watched in astonishment, frozen halfway to Killian's left arm with the BP cuff.

"Neat trick!" Rick exclaimed. "Now I don't feel quite as bad." He set up the machine and started it, then added, "Wanna take care of this one, too?"

Rick removed the last strip of tape securing the old catheter before tugging it out in one smooth motion. Emma waved her hand over the site and the skin instantly knitted, the tiny trail of blood vanishing to nothingness. Killian grabbed her hand and squeezed in thanks.

When Rick had finished recording Killian's vitals, he stood back and announced,

"Well, you're free to go. Sorry again for the hassle."

Killian nodded. "Thank you for your assistance, mate. Perhaps your next attempt will go more smoothly."

"Here's hoping."

"Good night," Emma told him, taking Killian's hand in hers. "Bed?" she murmured, and he nodded emphatically.

"Aye. Bed."

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 **AN: It doesn't make much sense, but having a favorite character get poked with needles give me the same "thrill" as more serious whump. You may have guessed :)**

 **Rick = Schmendrick the magician**

 **I'm still undecided about publishing one of the two other "deleted scenes." But the second is actually turning into a spin-off story about the aftermath of Hook's spear impalement in chapter 17. It won't be as long as this one, probably, but will obviously be nice and whumpy :)**


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